a raging Celtic brood....

The glorious Celtic music coming from my living room is doing little to dispel my gloom.....I am privy to an impressive practice session with College Boy on guitar and his former teacher/mentor on harp. Normally, Celtic music stirs my Irish Blood - leaving me feeling simultaneously empowered and relaxed - today it only serves to remind me of dreams long dead and far off lands that I will never see.....It started on Christmas Afternoon - a sense of malaise and melancholy. At first I attributed it to how sick I have been (Nasty little upper respiratory bug, that still has me sounding like I belong in a TB ward), we had a lovely Christmas, all of us together, so that couldn't be it.....I still can't put my finger on the "why", but that vague sense of sadness has become a full blown case of the blues. Yesterday, I took desperate measures and declared a Pajama Day with a Harry Potter marathon....that ALWAYS makes me feel better - until yesterday. Baby Girl and Babiest Girl were scheduled to help deliver Mobile Meals today, with some folks from Church.When I awoke this morning, and Baby Girl was too sick to go, I thought "That's just what I need - getting out and doing something for someone else....I'll take Baby Girls' place". I was paired with an older woman that I have long admired - she took the drivers seat - I became the navigator....I glanced over our route sheet - well done, with detailed directions. The more closely I read, the more uneasy I became - for on our list were people I knew....parents of kids I grew up with - one, a parent of a boy that I dated in High School. Some of the folks were still in their homes - homes I had ridden my bike to... others were in small, ramshackle apartments. Back in my car after all of the deliveries were made, I gave in to the tears that had been threatening for the last 2 hours..."That will be us....John and me" - I said, over and over in my brain until it became the cadence of my tears. Once home, I cleared the kitchen table for lunch, and that is how I found myself staring down into a picture of a green sea, cradled by an azure sky - the cover of John's Men's Journal (I don't know.....is this somehow the male equivalent of Southern Living?)...there, in the middle of the water, resting on a gossamer bar of sand, was a sea plane...and sitting on the wing, gazing soulfully out towards the horizon, was such a specimen of man flesh that it momentarily roused me from my self centered well of woe.Unfortunately, the headline above this photo read "Climbing Mount Impossible"....and those three words sent me right back into the well. Because some days (and these days especially) that is exactly how I feel.... Climbing Mount Impossible - with a fiscal cliff on one side, and general mayhem on the other...and today, in my state of blue, I see my Mount Impossible ending with me sitting in a ramshackle apartment, waiting by the door for the knock that will signal that some nice stranger has brought my lunch, in a styrofoam to go box....one that is mushy and smells strongly of institutional canned food. Call me Debbie Downer, and I will answer, cause today.....that's just where I am - in a raging Celtic brood - morose as any Irish poet....On the up side, my mood has an outstanding soundtrack, emanating live from the next room, and I take hope from the fact that as I type, I am tapping my feet to the mesmerizing Celtic rhythm... directly to my right, in my oven, is tonight's dinner -  two wonderful looking Quiche Lorraine's, made with eggs from my very own back yard (The Chickens have turned into such wonderful layers, that I have forgiven them for any resemblance they might bear to birds....). In my pocket book, on the hook by the back door, is a gift certificate for a massage at my favorite day spa - a gift from some  friends (and in the words of one of the givers - "you look like you could use it!" - he was being kind...what I really look like I could use is a week at an extreme makeover show, or several days in one of those hyperbaric oxygen chambers), and while I surely do not have a pocket full of sunshine at the moment, my coat pocket does hold the most beautiful pair of red leather gloves with kissy red bows - a gift from another friend. I will eat my supper.....I will clean the kitchen...I will kiss all three kids goodnight, and I will go to bed and read (Harry Potter) until I fall asleep (These days, it is usually less than ten minutes!), and I will hope that my Irish Blood will take a turn for the happier - because, to quote another Southern Irish lass....."Tomorrow IS another day".......

Fah who For-aze, Dah who Dor-aze....

Somehow, just like in the Grinch, Christmas has managed to arrive - despite all of our human tragedies and woes...even though the lights on my Tree don't give me the shivers this year, and the Christmas cookies don't go down quite so easily ( some would argue that this might just possibly be a good thing, given the size of my ever expanding rear end....). The presents are wrapped, the baking is done, and the Christ Child is ever ready to be born in a manger. Soon, the soup will be simmering in the crockpot - awaiting our most beloved Christmas tradition - It was a fluke,really...born out of desperation. The Christmas of 1998, I was great with child...like, Biblically....like, miserably....Babiest girl was a few short weeks away - we had just moved into our storybook cottage - all 1200 feet of it (bear that figure in mind, so you can be properly astonished when you hear how many house guests I received!). Faced with the imminent arrival of  John's Mom and Dad, his Sister, her husband and their 2 teenage daughters - I was somewhat panicked, and believe it or not, my main concern was NOT where to put everybody. ( In Law's in our bedroom, John on Den sofa, Me on recliner, College Boy and Baby girl in his room, Sister In Law and her gang in Baby Girl's room - easy peezy lemon squeezy, as long as you don't dwell on the fact that there were only 2 very small bathrooms!) My main concern was how to feed everybody for a WEEK! I was a stay at home Mom, and most times it was a challenge to stretch the budget just to feed ourselves - much less at Christmas, when I was pregnant  and for 6 extra people for 7 days....Lots of casseroles, and a cheap cut of Roast - slow cooked for Christmas Day, but what to do for Christmas Eve? It needed to be special, but it had to be cheap....SOUP! Soup is cheap - but not very special....unless.....what if you paired it with a story.....the greatest story ever told?! So on that first Christmas Eve, all snug in our cottage - after Christmas Eve service, and a ride by the tallest ever decorated Christmas Tree (our second favorite Christmas tradition), I lit every candle in the house, squeezed 10 people around my dining room table - and served up the Christmas Story....Crackers, Cheese, Fruit and Nuts - to symbolize the traveling food that Mary and Joseph might have eaten on the long, uncomfortable journey to Bethlehem.....Soup to represent the warmth and safety of the dark little stable......and cookies to represent the sweetness of Jesus' birth. That year, the soup was Potato, this year - Chicken and Tortellini... it changes from year to year - depending on our taste - but the thing that never changes is the feeling we get - as the candlelight flickers on each dear face, as the Story is retold.....as our personal story unfolds and our laughter fills the air.....the feeling that we are blessed beyond measure - to have each other,  to have food to eat and a home in which to eat it - to be able to share it with what ever guests might be at our table, to celebrate the birth of a baby - Emmanuel - God with us....that is the true gift - the gift that changeth not. "For unto you is born this day, in the City of David - a savior which is Christ the Lord......".....My Christmas wish for you this day is that you will be filled with the "peace which passeth all understanding" - no matter your life struggles....that in whatever direction you journey, you are filled with the knowledge that you do not journey alone.....that you find warmth and safety in the presence of those you love.....and that you find the sweetness of the season as you sit down to your dinner tonight.....that you wake in the morning, singing along with Cindy Lou Who...."Fah who For-aze, Dah who Dor-aze, Welcome Christmas, Christmas Day....".....God bless us, everyone.......

Liberty and Justice.... for whom?

"Food insufficiency".....Why do these things always happen to me when I am driving? I don't know if it was the low grade fever I was sporting, or just my opinions, too long held in check in regards to the swirling debates focused on the events of the last few days, that caused me to start raging into the emptiness of my vehicle.  The offending reporter on NPR was talking about the BackPack Program in schools, of which I am a great supporter. Over and over again, she kept using the phrase "Food insufficiency" , when what she really meant was hunger. And that.....did me in. The BackPack Program has been set up to combat H.U.N.G.E.R....in children.....in the United States of America - and using antiseptic phraseology does not change the facts....it only makes it seem more removed - more clinical - less visceral. Which brings me around to what was really bothering me....once you wade through the arguments of Gun Freedoms/reforms,  the God's vengeance camp vs. the God is Love camp, and the myriad Mental Health issues, there are, to my way of thinking giant elephants in our collective rooms in regards to the Connecticut massacre that no one is addressing. For those of you who don't know me well - let me introduce myself. I am not a friend of the NRA. I do not question your right to own a rifle to hunt with - as long as you eat what you kill, or use your kill to feed someone else. I do not question your right to own a handgun to protect home and hearth. I do believe that your right to carry concealed weapons infringes on my right to have a sense of  peace and personal security (which for me does NOT include a gun)- my right to know when there is a weapon in my presence. I believe that there is no reason on earth for anyone to own an assault rifle - the true and original weapon of mass destruction. If you are a person who believes that God sent this massacre as a punishment for any of the multiple reasons that I have seen bandied about - I do not know your God - this God that would seek vengeance against little children. I have yet to see any mention of the problem that goes back to the "Food Insufficiency"....that we, as a society, have become afraid of, or too lazy, or too inured , to take a stance....to call a spade a spade (I know - that phrase might be politically offensive, but it is the only one I can think of that really fits) That said, you may want to stop reading now - if you don't, I warned you - because here comes my two cents...... I am of the opinion that we have become a society that is unwilling to call out the bullies, wherever they may be - to enact swift and substantial punitive consequences - to have a zero tolerance policy - to say what we mean, and to mean what we say . We have become a society that is in many ways completely and totally immune to violence - we allow our young children to play video games and watch movies and TV shows that are rife with gun play and gore. Each time they play or view, their young minds (already unable to completely find a clear line between fact and fantasy, because of the limitations of their growing brains) find it a little less scary, a little more exciting, a little more normal - more acceptable...the "lives" of those killed while gaming become nothing more than points on a tote board....chipping away at the much touted "sanctity" of human life....distilling it to nothing more than killing for sport, or worse, glory. I do not believe everyone deserves a trophy - I believe that it not only gives our children a sense of entitlement, it sets them up for disappointment and an inability to cope with the "real world". I believe that we have a health care system that is corrupt and broken and that extends to mental health...especially mental health. I believe that parenting is too often viewed as a hobby, to be put aside when it becomes too messy and time consuming, and not as a sacred responsibility. I believe that we are laughable if we, as a society, have come to believe that we can "Keep God Out" by enacting a little bit of  mortal legislation - yet I also believe - quite strongly- in the separation of Church and State...."Render unto God that which is God's....render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's." I believe that we have become a society that refers to Childhood Hunger as "Food Insufficiency", thereby removing the unpleasant images that the word HUNGER conjures up...making it more P.C.....more palatable....like the "mechanical soft" pablum that Nursing Homes give to their patients that have difficulty swallowing. I believe that we have lost sight of personal responsibility when it comes to how we spend our "free will" - In our zeal to be right, we have lost sight of the true freedoms our country was founded upon,(of which Religious Freedom was front and center, and that included the right to have no religion if that is what one so desired) and the call to work for the greater good.... I believe that there is no one solution to the problems that we face as a people.....but I know that each part of the collective solution has to begin with putting aside our respective agendas, rolling up our sleeves and trying to be a part of the solution, instead of screaming about the ways in which we feel we have been slighted....to really MEAN that Pledge of Allegiance that so many folks are so riled up about....you know.....the one that ends "With Liberty and Justice for ALL".....

Laughing into the Wind....a Christmas Story.

It could have been worse....that Damned Christmas Shoe song could have come on the radio. Today has been one wild day....but I could have told you that it would be, before my feet touched the ground this morning...you see - it's December 15th, and for the last 34 years, this date has possessed it's own juju - this is the day my Mother went to Glory....in 1978..... At 10:22 p.m. (but who's counting - let's just say I ALWAYS try to be in bed by 10:00 p.m. on this date.) ...34 years.....and in all that time, I only remember one good 15th of December - it was in 1995, and although I am certain that this falls under the heading of TMI, it is the day that Baby Girl was conceived. I know this only because we were having a hard time getting pregnant (Not so with College Boy - we conceived the first week we were trying with him!) and we were keeping a chart. But back to this morning - If that Shoe song had come on the radio, I am certain I would have wrecked the car. I was driving with one hand on the wheel, and one hand holding Crackhouse Puppy's head - College Boy had the rest of him....we were rushing to the Emergency Vet, where my sweet Puppy remains in the Hospital tonight - Chocolate Poisoning -toxic levels... it was touch and go for awhile, but he seems to be holding his own, and at last report was resting (after pulling out his IV and Catheter - he is now wearing the Cone of Shame). After everything that has happened in the last couple of weeks - Chuck's death, yesterdays' massacre, Clancey's near death experience today - I am not really feeling the Christmas Spirit....I am sure I am not alone in this...so, to lift our spirits, I am going to relate one of my favorite Christmas stories - in honor of the 15th of December, in honor of my Mom. The Christmas I was  17, my Mother wanted to go shopping - she wanted to find me a Christmas present that I would really love. So we began the laborious process of getting ready. Mom was paralyzed from the waist down by this point, so getting her dressed was no mean feat. Once the clothes were on, I got her in the wheelchair, and rolled her to the vanity, where we put on the makeup, then the wig. Because it was winter, we then made a stop by the closet in the front hall....wheelchair locks in place, I lifted her to standing, and propped her against my hip with one arm, while I put her good coat on with the other... then I settled her back  into the wheelchair, out the door, down the ramp, Wheelchair locks on again, transfer Mama to the car, put the chair into the back of the car, and away we went - all in all, it took almost 2 hours. Even still, we were at the Mall when they opened the doors, and Mom was in high spirits. Into Belks we went, then Thalhimers, and at last - our favorite store - Tobias....where I found the most divine full length wool cape with hood. It was the most dramatic thing I had ever seen, and from the moment I tried it on, I wanted it with all my heart - but it was pricey, and needed to go back on the rack, but before I even got it back on the hanger, Mama looked at the saleslady and said "We'll take it!"...."Mom, NO!" I said. She pulled me down to her chair, so we were eye to eye and said "I want you to have this. You will be able to wear this long after I am gone, and you will remember this day - and me." And quick as a wink, she had signed the store charge slip, and we were out the door, my beautiful cape resting across her lap....but what happened next ensured that I would never, ever forget that day. I pushed Mom back down the mall towards the main entrance. As we opened the big double doors to go out, we noticed that the weather had changed. A bitter cold wind had whipped up, and the sky was dark and stormy. It was at that moment that everything switched to slow motion. We both noticed a couple walking towards us....folks we knew well....friends from Church. This might be a good time to remind you that even sick unto death, my Mother was more than slightly vain, and she was especially particular about her wig. Just as we were about to greet the friends, a huge gust of wind blew right past us.....and carried my Mothers highly coiffed, very expensive wig with it - turning it into a tumbleweed across the parking lot full of Christmas shoppers (most of whom we knew....it was a small town, after all). I gaped at her...I was frozen to the spot, certain that she was about to dissolve into the worlds largest  fit of histrionics...ever! There she sat - my beautiful, proud Mother - bald. as. a. cue. ball....in front of people she knew! She threw her head back and howled....with laughter! Big, hearty, body shaking laughter! Holding her sides, and gasping for air, she managed to get out a directive...."Don't just stand there Kelley - get that wig - it cost a fortune!" Before you could bat an eye, I threw the brakes on the wheelchair, and went chasing across the parking lot, after my Mama's store bought hair. Once I retrieved it (Trust me...it  really was  worse for the wear...), I turned back towards the mall entrance, to see my Mother holding court, her head bald, but held high... surrounded by people - all of whom were laughing and hugging each other, leaning over Mama's wheelchair, hugging her...shaking their heads, and wiping the mirth from their eyes. Uncertain as to what to do with the bedraggled wig, I halfheartedly held it out to my Mom. "Just put it in your purse," she said to me....."And give me your scarf....it's a bit airish out here". She took my scarf, and draped it about her head and shoulders - looking regal and exotic, as only she could,  waved good-bye to her admirers, and pointed towards the car....laughing all the way. My Mother taught me a valuable lesson that day...you may not have any control over what happens to you - but sure as the sun will rise tomorrow, you have control over how you respond.
That Cape was the last Christmas present my Mother would ever give me....and last night, as my family went outside to look for shooting stars during the meteor shower, that self same 35 year old cape was around my shoulders - keeping me warm, inside and out. I remember December 15th, the day she died - but more importantly, I also remember that December day, when my Mother showed me by example, how to live - choosing to keep on the Sunny Side...bald and beautiful and laughing into the wind.

"I will not leave you comfortless...."

I've been to the mountain top.....to retrieve College Boy. This morning, I had plans to blog about my Christmas Tree tonight....so many ornaments with so much sentimental value. And then my friend's phone pinged (A great friend, she drove me to the Mountain - because she knows how anxiety provoking highway driving is to me....),once, twice, three times in a row - alerting her to a news flash. This is how we discovered that a tragedy was unfolding in Connecticut. And now, once again, death is on my mind. The death of those whose lives were just beginning, the death of their family's hopes and dreams for those lives, the death of that community's sense of security. A couple of hours ago, I stood at my kitchen counter, cutting up chicken and onions and garlic - preparations for the Chicken and Dumpling Soup we were to have for supper. (As always, it hit the spot - comfort food at it's best) The house phone rang, and Baby Girl answered and held it to my ear for the shoulder hold (My hands were covered in raw chicken). My Brother was on the other end, and for the second time in less than three weeks, my mind could not wrap itself around the words coming out of his mouth...it would seem that my nephew will live on, because his Beautiful Widow has discovered that she is pregnant....tears coursed down my cheeks as I tried to picture the child of these two loved ones. Tears of sadness, because Chuck would have been the best Father...Tears of happiness, because a part of Chuck remains for us - for his parents, for his wife - for those that loved him. As I hung up the phone, John 14:18 came to my mind - "For I will not leave you comfortless...." As I sat with my family - all five of us - snug in the den, eating our soup by the light of the Christmas Tree, I marveled that a human could feel so many things at once - happy, sad, relieved, complete, distraught, angry, joyful, exhausted - my belly was so full of emotion, that it left very little room for supper....Comfort however, like dessert or cheese straws can always find biding room in a person, no matter how full (Of supper or conflicting emotions), if you only open yourself to the possibility. In the midst of this crazy day, my Brothers phone call brought unexpected comfort.Tonight, for my friends of faith, I pray that you will call upon the promise of John 14:18....For my friends who profess no faith I pray that you will surround yourselves with loved ones as day ends, and take comfort in their presence....For those families whose arms are empty at this moment, who lost their beloved children to senseless violence in a little school in a little town (That could just as easily have been your town, or my town) I pray that you feel the cosmic outpouring of love and prayers from a world full of people that you have never met - I pray that you find some measure of comfort in the hard days to come. Tonight I give thanks for the three heads snuggled under blankets watching TV in a room glowing with Christmas - Brother and Sisters together again - safe in this moment....for the risen sourdough, waiting to be made into loaves for the weekend...for my Husband, baking cookies for the neighbors...Thankful for the coats waiting to warm us, as we go out to look for meteors...for a young woman carrying new life....for the hope of Comfort, when all seems lost....thankful for all of you - my friends....a comfort indeed.

The opposite of "Haute for the Holidays".....

You know how your house just smells so great at Christmas, with the live tree and all of the baking? Well, the last few days....not so much. I have been all over this house, sniffing - on my hands and knees even - looking for signs of accidental puppy spots, inspecting all trash cans, cat box, sinks, laundry bins, toilets, sofa cushions....not an offensive sign anywhere - yet there is a lingering odor. Maybe not so much lingering....more like an in your face, "I'd be embarrassed if anybody came in the house", what died, kind of odor. This morning I was up before the chickens - literally.(The chickens generally sleep in until about 7:30 or 8:00!) I'm still not sleeping well, and I count it a victory if I sleep later than 5:00a.m. The upside to this is that I drink coffee and clean....and lately, search for the source of the olfactory offender. As this was my day off, once I got the family out the door, I grabbed another cup of coffee and sat down for a few minutes with Matt, Savannah and Al. I caught the interview with Ina Garten.....funny thing about Ina Garten - I have a serious love/hate relationship with her. I am an admirer of many of her recipes, and have several in my repertoire...yet I can't help but notice that she and I bear more than a passing resemblance to each other. Therein lies the hate part....because I don't think she is very attractive, and I look just like her! I was already more than slightly annoyed by the house stench, and then there is Ina...wearing my face and remarking that she just likes plain, simple food -staples - common things - like Pasta in white truffle sauce (At which point I said to myself..."self - let's go to the pantry and grab up the truffles and make a simple little supper"...NOT!)I did a couple of loads of laundry - sheets...I mean shepherd, angel, Mary and Joseph costumes for tomorrow night's big Nativity, and then I opened all of the windows - hoping to air the house out. I even left them open as I headed off to work (I know.....day off....but that's mostly just a theory right?). It was actually more like a field trip, as my neighbor(a fellow Children's Minister) and I went on a little road trip to check out a new camp location for this spring's 4th and 5th grade retreat. As we pulled back in to town, I realized I had just enough time to run to the Teeter (Grocery Store, for all you Non Southern types) before I picked the girls up from school. Pasta (NOT served with truffles), fruit, milk....just a few things to tide us over till shopping day. As I waited in line, I picked up my favorite magazine to flip through it. I was going to purchase it, until I came upon a feature that put me off.....it was entitled "Haute for the Holidays", and included  a $22.00 bobby pin (That's right....just one - with a little flower doo hickey on the end)....that was actually the cheapest thing in the whole article - and I don't know....it just made me aggravated again.... like Ina....and the mystery odor. I picked up both girls, dropped Baby Girl off at work, and came home - ready to start the supper. Tonight's orchestra concert (Babiest Girl), and Art Show (Baby Girl) necessitated an early eating time. Just as I got the Chicken going, Crackhouse Puppy started barking like a junkyard mongrel. I went to find him, and as I rounded the dining room, I looked through to the living room, and saw that he had left me a little deposit...of the solid kind. He does this from time to time - sometimes with repulsive frequency, and ALWAYS in the living room (Friends, if you have ANY suggestions on how to halt this behavior, I want to hear them - although, we have tried almost everything we can think of). As I got closer (let me say, in my defense that I did NOT have my glasses on), I realized that there was a chewed off sprig of ivy laying beside his offering (He also has a bad habit of chewing on my plants if he is bored)..."That excrement sure is a funny color," I thought to myself (Possibly, just possibly, "excrement" is not the word I used....just sayin)...."and an odd shape too" my inner monologue concluded....This might be a good place to remind you that all of my windows were open - so I can only say to any dear neighbors who might have been outside (although, it is within the realm of possibility that you heard me even if you were inside) I apologize for any alarm I may have caused you. For just as my foot hit the living room floor, I realized that the offending brownish lump was not the result of any canine bodily function, but possibly WAS the cause of the offending odor that has held our home hostage. There, laying mangled and desecrated was a rather large, very dead Mouse. It is really quite impressive that the human vocal mechanism can produce that kind of sound, even in the throes of laryngitis....I made it back to the kitchen a full 10 seconds before my crawling skin caught up to me. Babiest girl stared at me with eyes the size of saucers, as she half rose from her chair. I fleetingly wondered if it would be wrong of me to make the 13 year old get rid of the remains, but I quickly dismissed that as going directly against the "I won't ask you to do anything that I wouldn't do myself" rule. No College Boy to rescue his dear Mama....no John - he's working late....What to do?! Now, this is not some run of the mill dead mouse. This is a mouse that has been tortured for days....has possibly been dead for days....a chew toy that Crackhouse Puppy has carried from room to room, hiding it....saving it for later (Which could explain the transitory nature of the odor). I may not have White Truffles in the pantry, and I may not subscribe to the "Haute for the Holidays" theory, but I am nothing if not resourceful....with that in mind, I set about  finding the proper tools for the corpse removal. Long yard broom....check. Empty cereal box from the recycling....check. I tiptoe back into the living room (don't ask me why....), and carefully, whimperingly lay the cereal box below the poor little thing. I then took the broom, and thanks to all the Childhood years of PuttPutt playing, I chipped that bad boy right into the box. As I gingerly carried it out through the kitchen, Babiest girl says angelically, "Mom....can we give it a proper burial?"......."Yeah sure", I say....."I got your proper burial right here", as I ran out  behind the shed and flung as far as I could fling....As I stood at my sink, scrubbing the first two layers of skin off of my hands in the hot soapy water, I thought about Ina and her white truffles, the lingering odor of an uninvited guest and the opposite of "Haute for the Holidays".....

The secret knowledge of the power of red leather...

I have a thing for red leather shoes.If anything can bring me to a screeching halt in a store, it is the sight of shoes in red leather.When I was a little girl, my Mother made certain that I got a new pair of them every year in November - just in time for the Christmas season. We would go down to Main St. and search until we found just the right ones. I loved them all, but a particular pair stands out in my mind. It must have been the Christmas I was 12, because that was the year my Mom let me start wearing a shoe with a little heel...The 70's were just getting revved up, and groovy was in. My Mother was clucking and tutting the lack of "suitable shoes for a decent young lady", and we were just about to give up on the search when we spotted them....red crinkled leather - a little shiny, but not quite patent leather - not flat, with just the right amount of heel, and best of all, they sported a big red sassy bow. Now, to my way of thinking, if anything can improve upon red leather shoes, it is a big red bow. How I loved those shoes - I crammed my feet into them long after I had outgrown them, unable to give them up. I can still remember the feel of those shoes - how slipping them on seemed to put a zing in my step, causing me to prance rather than walk. It was as if they possessed their own red leather magic charge. It has been an eternity since I owned a pair of red leather shoes - these days I am more about function than form (hence the Crocs - although they ARE red....). Today I dragged my carcass to Target in the rain, despite my hacking cough and dripping nose (yes, I finally gave in to the cold that has been threatening me for days). I am encouraged to know that my overall health appears better than I feared, because I did not suffer apoplexy upon seeing the Fifty Dollar Neiman Marcus Christmas Ornaments as I entered the store (FIFTY DOLLARS?! Who pays Fifty Dollars for Christmas Balls for heavens sake.....don't even get me started!). Neither did I keel over when I saw that Cough Syrup has gone up to ten dollars a bottle (When the heck did THAT happen?! And, may I add that it has not helped one iota, which would explain why I am sitting in front of the computer at 3:00a.m.). I meandered a little bit on my way to the check out - looking at this...looking at that, when the heavens opened, and the angels sang....for there, right in front of me, was a pair of red leather gloves - with kissy little red bows at the wrists. Unable to resist, I put my germ infested hand right into those babies, and sure enough - I felt the tingle of red leather...so... it is not exclusive to shoes - it must be in the leather itself! My old wrinkled hands were transformed in a twinkling - they felt alive and pretty.....and young. It was with great effort that I removed the buttery leather, and hung those beautiful things back on the display...like the Neiman Marcus ornaments, they were priced outside the realm of my pocketbook (Unlike the Neiman Marcus ornaments, they were worth every penny!). I made my way to the checkout line, a smile on my lips - the memory of red shoes of Christmases past prancing about in my head. Lost in thought, I didn't really take note of my surroundings as I waited...until I was brought out of my reverie by a tiny blond head bobbing up and down in front of my buggy. There she was - in all her glory - a little girl of about five - unable to stand still, she was dancing in place and as I looked down, I saw the cause. There, on her baby feet, were the most remarkable pair of red leather boots....complete with a bow at the top. Unable to resist the electric charge of red leather, her feet danced in time to the music in her heart. "Those are the best.boots. EVER", I said to her, as she looked up at me. "Yep", she said,not missing a beat - a smile on her face - the secret knowledge of the power of the red leather shining through her eyes. As her Mother finished paying and they walked away, she turned to me and said "Merry Christmas!"....."Merry Christmas to you too", I said...happy that I have not forgotten what it felt like....to be a child possessed with the magic of  Christmas shoes....I left the store, coughing up a lung, but with a spring to my step...fueled by the memory of the power of red leather.

Shiva....and Birthdays.....

Shiva is the Jewish  period (Seven days) of mourning. The word Shiva is taken from the Hebrew word "Shiv'ah" , which literally means Seven. Seven is considered by Jews and Christians alike to be a mystically sacred number, signalling completeness. It occurs to me that in the last week, I have observed my own  Baptist girl Shiva, as I have grieved for my Nephew. Although our Jewish friends sit Shiva and mourn privately, I have mourned in a very public way. Today marks the seventh day, and accordingly, if I follow true Shiva, it is the day that I get up and go about the business of living. Oddly enough, this seventh day falls on my Father's Birthday - and this was a man who was all about the business of living. Were he alive, he would be 93 today, and I daresay that he would have been just as full of love and life and good humor as he was in his younger years. This is a man who loved to laugh, loved to celebrate...loved to live. This was a man who adored a good joke, and was the master prankster. As I wrote a few weeks ago, he put a cow in the Bell Tower at College - in the dead of night, tied the bell's rope to her collar, gave her a good smack on the hindquarters and ran. (How he ever got the cow up all those steps, I will never know). This was a man who, weary of the long winded Dean, put an alarm clock deep into the bowels of the pipe organ, and set it to go off (in repeat mode) in the middle of Convocation at the same College. This was a man who, although possessed of tremendous innate dignity, could not abide a stuffed shirt. I tell you this, because I need you to understand that no one on the face of the earth would have loved the story I am about to tell in honor of my Dad's birthday, as an end to my self imposed Shiva, more than my Dad himself. In the interest of full disclosure...this story, although absolutely, totally, 100% true, might not seem entirely appropriate....might seem more than a little irreverent...which would have made it all the more to my Dad's liking. My Father died very suddenly, with no warning whatsoever. Daddy was beloved by everyone who knew him, and was something of an institution in my hometown, so it came as no surprise to the family that the visitation at the Funeral Home the night before his Service, was worthy of Military Crowd Control. Scheduled to go from 6-8 pm, we were there until almost 10, and still there were people milling about. My sister and I, once safely back at the house, ensconced in our pajamas, sitting on the floor in the hallway (I have no idea why we all gathered there....there were lots of rooms - perhaps it is because we couldn't bear the thought of being in any of those rooms without Dad...) decided that we had not had enough private time with our Dad, so we determined that we would return to the Funeral Home in the morning, for a last visit. When we arrived, around 10:00am, there were still people coming to pay their respects. With the aid of the Funeral Director, we made a plan - the guest book would be moved into the main hall, so that folks could sign their condolences, and the entry to his viewing room would be closed off. I would sit guarding the door while my sister had her time, and then she would do the same for me. As I closed the door on my turn, I realized that there was really nothing left unsaid between my Father and me - in his last years, we had developed an enviable closeness, and we were fully at peace with each other. I stood over the casket, touching his suit sleeve, his hand - noting that death did nothing to diminish age spots. I prayed Thanksgiving over his life, and begged strength to live the rest of mine without him. After a period of time, I opened my purse and took out the small pair of scissors brought just for the purpose of taking a small cutting of his hair - a talisman for the remainder of my days.  Once that was done, I leaned over to put my head on his shoulder, one last time.... Now let me say, in my defense, that my Father was a man of substance.... that is to say, he was.... stout....well on his way to being as wide as he was tall (don't be too alarmed...he wasn't that tall!)....And the Casket....it has to weigh a ton, right?......well, the only thing I can figure is that the shiny box was sitting all wheewhompered on the base, because when I laid my head on my Dad, I felt movement....of the sort you never, ever want to feel. In an instant, the Casket AND it's contents were tipping over, in slow motion. With Ninja quick reflexes, I crouched and grabbed, halting the overturn mid way. So there I was - in my dress and my highest heels, trying to keep my Dad from falling out of the coffin that was turned almost upside down. Alerted by the banshee quality of my screams, my sister burst into the room - assessed the situation with lightning speed, and dashed to lend me a hand. With one mighty shove, we managed to right the offending object and it's inhabitant. Stunned and breathless, we could only stare at each other. And then, as if on cue, we sunk to the floor, amid gales of laughter.....the kind that makes you snort and cry and holler and hold your sides and roll around. Funeral Home employees came from all directions, baffled, I'm sure as to the source of the noise. We must have been a fearful sight, because none of them came near....just backed out of the room and closed the door on those poor dear girls, overcome with grief. (Or maybe they thought we had been on the receiving end of an instantaneous Pentecostal conversion) In the moments after we regained our composure, it seemed as if our Father had laughingly and lovingly taught us one last lesson - one that I will call upon today as my Shiva draws to a close....that life is to be lived...that loss and grief will come again and again...but that mirth and joy are never dead to us, if you only open yourself up to it....Happy Birthday Daddy - today's laughter is my gift....to you.

Breathe....air is your friend.....

If you knew me in my teens or 20's, more than likely you were aware that I had pretty wicked anxiety issues. Born of my constant  worry for my Mother as a child, my anxieties pretty much ruled the roost of my life...even in the early days of my marriage. If John so much as drove the 1/2 mile from our house to the corner store, I would be sick with worry until he returned. Just as I had tortured my parents with constant "How are you feeling"......"Can you breathe OK?"......."Do you have any chest pain".....I transferred those persistent queries to John, and bless his heart, for the most part he was patient with it....because he understood the root of my fears. It was not until I became a Mother myself, that I got a grip on it...I didn't want my children to be the beneficiaries of a legacy of panic, so I worked - really, really hard to eradicate extreme, crippling anxiety from my life...For the last 10-12 years I have been relatively free from hard core, bring you to your knees anxiety (Other than at Mammogram time....some things will never change.....) That's why this morning, when John made a passing reference to not feeling up to snuff, and the first question out of my mouth was "Do you have chest pain", I froze like a Popsicle. I had an inkling that my Nephews death might be messing with my hard won state of Zen, when I panicked Sunday as I dropped College Boy off to catch his ride back up the Mountain to school. I was able to talk myself down before it got bad, and went on about the rest of my day....But this morning made the second time in less than 48 hours that my old self reared it's ugly head - I mean, I thought myself a battle scarred, tough as nails survivor - the conqueror of anxiety and panic attack - I have even made it through years of John's un/under/employment, two kids getting their drivers license, and one going off to college, for goodness sakes. Yet, Chucks sudden death has summoned the ghosts of Christmases Past.....my past. I don't think I've mentioned that he, in the prime of his life, suffered a massive heart attack while trying to drive himself to the Emergency Room.(We are still awaiting results of the autopsy for answers as to why the attack occurred) I guess we will never know if he had been feeling poorly, or had any warning signs in the days leading up to last Tuesday. There is no way of knowing if the outcome would have been different if he had called for an ambulance, instead of trying to drive....but I will say to you, my friends, that which I have been saying to my children and my Husband for the last week (with annoying frequency I am sure), if you experience Chest Pain, or any other life threatening symptoms - call 911 - open the front door if you are able, and put yourself right by it. Take no chances - an ambulance is full of life saving equipment. As for me, it is time to plunge into some remediation on the Zen front - reminding myself that I can solve nothing, prevent nothing, fix nothing by worrying. It is time to remember that the only thing worry can change is the quality of my life. So I will begin again....air in on a three count, air out on a three count and repeat, over and over - my mind chanting my mantra "Trust the gift, trust the giver....." And though, in the last years I have said it laughingly as a gentle nudge to myself and my circle of people, I say it now therapeutically, as I did in the early days of my struggles to free myself  from the ever present grip of anxiety.... I say it now to nip it in the bud...."Breathe.....air is your friend"

"For now we see in a mirror, dimly....."

"For now we see in a mirror, dimly....." This is a line from a passage of scripture from I Corinthians (13:12 to be exact) that was used in the Memory Card, handed out at my nephew Chuck's funeral yesterday. And it describes exactly how I am feeling - as if I am viewing the world through a fog...everything dim and distorted. If I had to guess, I would attribute it to intense emotional and physical exhaustion. The odd thing is though, that there are some things that stand out in sharp relief...as if they had been filmed in HD in my minds eye. First to penetrate the fog yesterday, was the face of my niece-in-law - the beautiful widow. The abject despair etched into that face is not something I will ever be able to erase from my memory. Never before have I beheld such wrenching, wretched pain. Her body bent double with the weight of the reality of the day as she clutched Chuck's suede jacket - the very jacket he was wearing the last time I hugged him....For all the loss and grief that I have experienced in my life, never have I seen or heard such raw, unadulterated, articulated anguish. The clarity hit me again, as I stood by the Casket preparing to sing...College Boy strumming the introduction to Amazing Grace (He played so beautifully - he gave every ounce of talent he possessed to the moment, and his arrangement was powerful and healing). It came to me that he and I have made music together at the funerals of both of my nephews....For Chris, I was carrying College Boy inside me, dealing with the most intense Braxton Hicks contractions as I struggled for breath to sing (Then, as now - I found that it is impossible to sing a decent note when your throat is tight with grief....). For Chuck, I had College Boy beside me - my partner in music once again. The next snapshot came at the cemetery, as Chuck's casket was placed beside the resting place of  his brother...I saw them as they once were - two little boys, twin beds side by side, sharing a sleeping place that was crowded with toys and clothes, and the trappings of daily living....once again they lie side by side - an image that caused the incessant shivering to return, and the fractured pieces of my heart to splinter once again. The rest of the day revolved around coffee and cheese straws, hugs, quiet times, and the gentle laughter of recollection, as story after story was told...no sharp edges - just soft ripples in the gloom.Today dawned dimmer than yesterday - perhaps a result of the grief hangover. As I rolled out of bed this morning, I was confronted by a face that looked as if it had been on a five day drunk - swollen eyes, blotchy skin...sad to say, I looked better than I felt. But it was the Lord's day...a work day for this Children's Minister, and as any good Baptist can tell you, a Sunday in December is bound to be one long day....As I made my preparations, I entered into our first Service on Auto....sing the songs, light the candles....please be over soon.....and then - the unexpected moment of clarity - a snapshot to be treasured - a yin to yesterdays yang, the light to the dark, the hope to the despair.....The gift of song, by brother and sister. I sing with the Brother every week, his voice is almost as familiar to me as my own, and he was in fine form this morning. As I left the podium, and settled in my pew, he helped his sister up the steps...not a gesture to be taken lightly, for this beautiful red haired woman has a sinister disease - one that has robbed her of her hearing, taken a portion of her ability to speak, and left her with difficulties in mobility. Brother helped her into a chair, and then took up his acoustic guitar - starting the introduction to What Child is This....never taking his eyes off of his Sister. As Brother sang, Sister signed - in perfect time, to the beat she could not hear. Her movements were so beautiful, so profound,so lyrical, such a blessing - I was undone. The music in her soul, and the worship in her hands were a balm to my raw, wounded heart....a welcome moment of brightness, in a dim and desperate week. I am exhausted, I am grief stricken, I am fearful to let my family out of my sight....but there is a small kindling of warmth, somewhere in my core, thanks to this unexpected moment in my dreary day....a snapshot of hope - more clear than drear....a reminder of the remainder of the verse in I Corinthians...."For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know, just as I am also known...." The word of God, for the people of God.....Thanks be to God.

Cheese straws, and a slice of life.....

The phone rang at 1:45 A.M.....after the last few days, that is NOT something you want to hear. John and I sat up in terror, and he grabbed for the phone. We were so relieved when it was a misdialed call. On the downside, that pretty much did me in for sleeping. I dozed off and on, but gave up the ghost well before dawn, and put on the coffee... After I drink this cup, I will finish up the sourdough cinnamon rolls, and pack them away to take to my Brother and Sister In Law tomorrow....then I will start on some cheese straws I think, and maybe after that babiest girl and I will make some peppermint patties (recipe on my Pinterest...they are divine). Strange comfort food I know, but it's what sounds right to me...In my experience, in times of deep sorrow and grief, you may not be able to think about eating a ham sandwich, or chicken and vegatables, but you can always tolerate a cheese straw.....College Boy will be home later today, and I can not wait to have my arms around him - I have hated that he was so far away, grieving by himself, this first sudden loss of someone young and seemingly healthy - someone that you sat beside while eating Turkey and laughing... someone who was there, and now is not. It has been so hard watching the girls grapple with this same issue, and I have searched for words of explanation and comfort - words that feel woefully inadequate. I started putting out the Christmas yesterday...don't know why - I just woke up with a burning need to do so. I always start with the mantle in the den. First the Santas, then the fresh greens, then the lights.As I was pulling the Santas out of their storage box, I was transported to the first time I decorated a house for Christmas - my Childhood home, in the days before my Mother died...December 15, 1978....I was a teenager, but I had watched my Mother every year, as she carefully made arrangements, adorned candelabra's, and hung the mistletoe.... I was able to replicate her designs, almost to a tee. I was comforted to know that just days later, as the stretcher was pushed through the house to the waiting ambulance, she asked them to stop, so she could see the "Christmas". My Dad told me how proud she was of all that I had done, and how much it meant to her, to see it one last time. Yesterday, some 34 years later, I was once again decking the halls with my companions of sorrow and tears... The first Santa to be put in place is one that John bought me many years ago - It is a bust of Santa smoking his pipe. I fell in love with it, because it looks just like my Dad, when he donned the old red suit, year after year. Next, the trio of Santas that my Sister In Law painted for me in the early days of my marriage - she is so very talented, and I have always envied her abilities. Next, perhaps the most meaningful Santa of all. I bought it the Christmas I found out I was pregnant with College Boy. I was walking the flea market in our town, and was drawn to a booth, where a woman was selling her wares. She had a baby strapped to her back, and a toddler eating crackers and gnawing on a book  in a playpen. We struck up a conversation, as I looked at her Folk Art. (Folk Art is one of my greatest loves...) She was a college educated woman, determined to live her dream of staying at home with her Children. To help supplement her Husbands income, she sold her paintings on the weekends. I shared with her my happy news, and we talked at length about our common dream - to live a life focused on the raising of our children. She inspired me, and showed me that although it might be hard, it was possible, to have the luxury of being a stay at home Mom - and for many years, I walked this woman's path - selling paintings and beeswax candles at a weekend market, moonlighting at the Dinner Theatre, adding my little bit of money to the household - making up for the rest by learning to be frugal. Every time I look at that Santa, I am filled with gratitude for that chance encounter, and for the woman's advice and encouragement. After Folk Art Santa is in place, Celtic Santa follows, and then it is a free for all - until the mantle looks just right. Then, on to the angels in the Living Room, the Nativity in the Music room, the table and chandelier in the Dining Room, and back to the den - to put the lights on the tree - a task that needs finishing this morning (There may or may not have been some kitchen words involved with the stringing of the lights last night, causing me to leave them for later) - then everything will be ready to decorate the tree tonight, when all five of us are home. It is a strange juxtaposition, this.....the preparing of funeral food, and the decorating for Christmas. How to make sense of it? How to make it a life lesson that sticks for my kids? I want them to see that you have to keep on keeping on....that grief is a part of this life we lead, but that it doesn't have to define you....that none of us are promised tomorrow, so we make the best of today, and wake up - trying again. I want them to know, in their heart of hearts, that at the end of life - whenever that comes -  the things that will have mattered the most are not things, but relationships - family, and those in our circle that we love - the people that we helped, the lives that we touched, the laughter that we shared, the tears of compassion we cried.... I want them to know that life is like decorating for Christmas in the midst of sorrow and tragedy - finding the hope, in the presence of despair. Tomorrow will come - we will eat our cheese straws, and face each other with our sadness and inadequate words....it will be a day of spoken and unspoken prayer, of laying to rest our dreams for one we loved....a day for giving full reign to the grief that is ours. A day for family....a day to to look to the coming of the Christ Child - to embrace Christmas, and it's promise of hope and peace and light, made manifest in the darkness....a day for funeral food...cheese straws, and a slice of life.

Make it Not. Be. So.

As the sun rose on my third cup of coffee, it was apparent that Mother Nature was sharing in my grief....a fog so thick that what little I could see had a surreal, other worldly feel. The same feeling I had at 9:00 last night, 4:00 this morning, all afternoon, and right now as I sit at my desk in the kitchen. The house is momentarily empty - I am thankful for the quiet. Crackhouse Puppy is sitting by my feet, intuitively offering me comfort....every now and then, putting his head on my knee and whimpering - a fitting sound for this day. I was climbing into bed last night as the phone rang...my brother's voice on the other end. I have heard him sound like that only twice before - in 1991 when he made the call informing me of our Father's death, and then again in 1993 as 8 months pregnant with my first child I listened as he haltingly told of his teenage son's death. "Kelley"....he said last night, and in an instant I knew, and my mind screamed "Who.....who is it this time....?" My mind, my heart - not ready for any name that he might call - but as I fell to my knees, I could not accept the name he uttered..."Chuck....it's Chuck.....he's dead...." Never one to be at a loss for words, I was incapable of formed words...Surely not Chuck, my one remaining nephew - my Brother's one remaining Son....He's a newlywed - He sat, glowing with happiness at my Thanksgiving table not five days past...he and his beautiful bride just back from a second, delayed wedding ceremony in her native Peru...not Chuck who just last week made the same smiley face that has worked on me since he was a baby, and asked to take the remainder of the Chocolate Pie home...not Chuck whose last words to me were "I'll see you in a couple of weeks" - we had planned a holiday game night with a sleepover....not Chuck, who was my very first "little buddy". I was ten when my Brother and Sister In Law announced that they were expecting...I was so excited - I might finally get to hold a real live baby! When he was born, he was so perfect, so cuddly, and so mine! As he learned to walk, I was allowed to take him outside - we could bounce the ball, and swing. And when he came to visit my house, we would play ride a little pony down to town until my leg felt like it would break. As a two year old, he developed a love of hats that was something to behold. His best, most favorite hat was a "Billy Jack" hat - almost as big as he was...it is this picture - Chuck standing under the Christmas tree, clutching the Billy Jack hat tight on his head, that has been front and center in my mind today. He was a lover of sweets...I will never forget the Christmas, he must have been two or three, that my Mother outdid herself on the dessert course. She put out crystal platter after crystal platter of cookies and bars and little cakes....she leaned over to Chuck and asked which one he would like....he raised up on his knees in the chair, leaned over the table, reached his little arms out, spread the stubby fingers on both hands as far apart as he could and commanded...."MANY!" That precious little boy grew into a fine man, and he traveled the world - first in the military, and then with his civilian jobs. He was the best of both of his parents....my Sister In Law's gentle spirit, my Brothers sense of humor. True love came late to Chuck, and we were all overjoyed as he found and then wed his beloved.....a girl who is beautiful inside and out....a girl who is too soon a widow.  My Brother and Sister In Law have lost both of their precious boys, and for once....words fail me. I do not know how to express to them the depth of my grief, my pain borne of theirs, my willingness to do anything to make this not. be. so....but it is so....my first little buddy has joined his brother, his Grandparents, his Great Grandparents in that Sweet By and By...and no matter what I do, I can not clear my spirit of this internal fog - this sense of the surreal. No matter what I do, I can't stop shivering - no matter how many layers of clothing I put on, or how many blankets I cover myself in. No matter what I do, I can not ease my family's pain...No matter what I do, I can not make. it. not. be. so. With that in mind, I will "pull out the mat", as we say in our family....I will blanket us in prayer - calling each by name - I will beg a Godly covering - that peace which passeth all understanding. I will hold each one I love, close in my heart...I will pray sleep tonight for all who mourn...and in my grief, I will wish this was. not. so.....

Snapshots of Thanks....

Coffee in my favorite mug, crackhouse Puppy at my feet.
Parades and breakfast casserole - that surely can't be beat.
Recipes checked, ingredients gathered -Cooked all morning long,
Hugs and laughter and broken dishes - Me, bursting forth in song.
Family here from near and far, favorite stories told,
Brothers, Sisters, Nieces, Nephews...how did we get so old?
The Pavilion tables - set and pretty, seems a carport no more -
 Due to lists and proper planning, only one trip to the store.
Turkey, ham, and sweet potatoes; cheese biscuits and baked rice,
Grandma's recipe for the old Egg Gravy, it turned out pretty nice!
Coffee, Spice Bars," Faux Baklava" , not one but two Chocolate Pies,
Our mission? We were out to prove, our stomachs larger than our eyes...
We sat around, al fresco dining, replete with food and love,
Aware once more, that all good gifts are sent from up above.
I felt the ancestors, one by one - they were with us, in this place.
I could feel the dear ones, and if I squinted, could see each precious face.
I'm Thankful for the Food, the laughter, and for the ties that bind
We gathered together, asked the Lord's blessings, for us, and all mankind.
Praise God From whom all blessings flow, they make a Firm Foundation.
I'm Thankful for my home and family, and for this hurting Nation.
The sun has set, and my Pavilion is now aglow with Happy Lights,
Dishes to do, and tables to clean on this Thanksgiving night of nights.
I'm feeling very grateful, for the goodness of this day
I'll have such happy memories, when upon my bed I lay...
For bounty and success and wealth, are not always found in Banks...
Now I am rich beyond compare, in these - my snapshots of Thanks.

Babiest Girl....Bringer of Joy....

I am not going to lie.....Babiest Girl was not in the plans. At least not that spring. I cried for DAYS when I found out I was expecting. I had a four year old and a one year old for goodness sakes, it was not the optimal time financially, and we lived in a two bedroom house. But, as often happens, we figured it all out (with a little divine intervention), and by the time of her birth, we were settled in our new (to us) three bedroom storybook cottage, anxiously awaiting her arrival . Her birth was quick and easy (thanks to the epidural - I didn't have one with the other two). When Baby Girl (who had spent the last 4 months shouting into my ever growing belly "my mommy...MY MOMMY!) laid eyes on 12 hour old Babiest Girl, she gasped and said with the greatest reverence, "Oh Mommy....her's a WHEETEE (translated:sweetie). And was she ever! Such a wonderful baby, and so very loved by all of us....A sweetie all the way around. So full of personality, so funny....and so laid back. She was the light of our lives...and still is, today. As she grew, it became apparent that she was smart....not just bright, but scary smart...off the charts smart. In Kindergarten, her favorite animal? An Echidna....I swear, I had to look it up! (You know...the egg laying Mammals that live in Australia...) More than one of her teachers have told me that she has the most inquisitive mind of any student that they have ever taught. She thrives in the scholastic environment, and she dreams of going to the High School of Math and Science...a boarding school, Lord Help Me! (The child has asked for a book on Quantum Physics.....for a little light reading!) But here's the weird thing (Even weirder than ME having a  Mathematically/ Scientifically gifted child)...to be so smart, she is so...normal. I have often said that it must be a wonderful thing, to be Babiest Girl. She is, and has always been, so comfortable in her own skin....so content, no matter her circumstance...so self assured....so kind. When she was in Elementary School, she had a little friend who suffered from a nervous condition that was so bad, it made it difficult for him to eat. Babiest Girl would sit next to him, and rub his back...murmuring to him that it was alright - encouraging him to take just one more bite....I have witnessed it on multiple occasions, and it never failed to bring me to tears. I can always count on Babiest girl to help, wherever she is needed. She is patient and loving...a girl with tremendous style.She has a thousand watt smile, and eyes that twinkle - like my Dad's. She isn't short....she's fun sized! Her beauty is ethereal and her sense of wonder is palpable. She loves to laugh, and she loves to play games. She makes jewelry like a pro, and gives the best head scratches in the history of mankind. Unbeknownst to her, I was watching  the other day, as she was standing in a wide open space - arms flung out to the side, head back, spinning around and around - her long hippie skirt flowing with her movement. Her joyful abandon in the moment was filled with her beautiful spirit - one that embraces us all. Today, on this day before Thanksgiving, I am Thankful for Babiest Girl....for the light that is her life....for the joy that she brings, wherever she goes.

Baby Girl....the LionHeart...

Her eyes were blackened and swollen shut, as if she had been a few rounds with a prize fighter...her fingers were long and beautiful - like my Mothers'. Baby girl was born 8 weeks early, and the Doctor arrived yelling "How the hell did this happen?", stuck out his arms and caught her. Tiny and in distress, she was whisked away before I had time to count her toes, or smell her head, or hold her....hours later I was taken down to the NICU to see my little girl. For all of my life, the one thing I wanted above all others was a baby girl (No offense, College Boy),and there she was, so full of wires and tubes, I couldn't even hold her. Three days after her birth, my Appendix ruptured - I was back in the hospital and sicker than Baby Girl...she was ready to go home before I was, but they kept us both in the hospital, so we could leave together....and that is how we have been ever since...together. There has never been a sweeter infant than Baby Girl. We used to joke that she didn't cry, because she was afraid we would take her back to the hospital. She grew quickly, and smiled and laughed without reservation. She talked extremely early (And hasn't stopped since...she takes after her Dad!), and was talking in sentences before she was 15 months old. As she grew older, "time out", was of absolutely no use....she would carry on conversations with herself, sing little songs she made up, tell stories loudly enough to ensure her brother and I could hear.....She has my Grandfathers eyes - the only one of his Grands,Great Grands or Great Great Grands to be so lucky....the clearest, palest, most arresting blue - and huge. She is smart, funny, creative, imaginative, artistic, loving, opinionated (I have NO idea where she gets THAT from...) and beautiful - inside and out. She has a soft spot for the elderly....she loves small children...and they love her back. She has the strongest will of any person I have ever known, and is brave beyond measure. She has been called upon more times than I can count, to make use of that courage. School was a challenge for Baby Girl from the beginning, and in the 1st grade, we discovered that she had sustained damage from the trauma of her birth - she has an optic nerve disorder, and is legally blind in her left eye. Treatment was horrible for her - she was required to wear a patch on the bad eye during school, and then, at home the patch was switched to the good eye, which left her stumbling around and frustrated. Even at that young age, she was able to grasp how important it was for her to cooperate - how it would affect her whole life, if she couldn't see. I would get up early every day and draw on her patch - tie dye designs, flowers, butterflies, hearts - whatever she wanted. Kids can be cruel, and sadly, my girl discovered this at an early age...immediately, she was the object of teasing and name calling. She became withdrawn in public, and clung to me. My favorite Baby Girl story occurred just a few weeks into this process. It was Halloween, and there was to be a grand festival at our Charter School. Baby Girl dressed as Boo from Monsters Inc....I even drew Mike Wasowski on her eye patch. She would not leave my side, and spent most of the time with her face buried in the side of my skirt. I was working a game booth outside on the playground, and I suddenly realized there was no little body attached to me....I scanned the playground, and spotted her - just as she threw herself between a much older, much larger bully boy and a child with serious learning disabilities. She threw back her shoulders and stood as tall as her little body would let her and screamed "You leave him alone!" My little girl with her eye patch and her lions heart...She had her yearly Eye exam yesterday. When we started treatment, so many years ago, the Doctor said the best we could hope for was 20/60 eyesight with corrective lenses - yesterday, she tested 20/20 with her lenses. I am so proud of my tenacious girl - so loving, so strong, so determined.  So beautiful, so smart, so talented...she doesn't yet believe in her true worth....kids can still be cruel, and I have watched, heart broken as they try to chip away at her sense of self - for sport. But my girl still possesses the heart of a lion, and one day soon, she will be able to leave this place, and go forth and find her tribe. I long for the day when she sees herself as I see her...as the greatest of treasures....full of life and love and strength....my beautiful Baby Girl, the lionheart. Today, I am thankful for the gift of my first daughter...heart of my heart.

College Boy....

If I let him get two steps ahead of me, I couldn't catch him. College Boy must have been the fastest two year old that ever lived - I became adept at snatching up the collar of his shirt, or the waistband of his pants - what ever I could grab first...I developed a 6th sense about when he was getting ready to make a break for it! I am sitting here, anxiously awaiting the sounds of car doors closing - signaling his arrival,  which will mean the holidays may commence. Back in August, I wondered what this would feel like...wondered if I could survive until Thanksgiving. This is not the first time that he has been home since he left for school, but it will be the longest that he has been home since he gained his new name...."College Boy." Somehow, I feel as if I wasn't able to grasp a piece of his clothing - I let him get more than two steps ahead, and now, I can't catch him. In the minutes after he was born, to the amazement of all of the medical personnel in the room, he raised his head and looked towards the sun streaming in through the window...he has kept his face to the sun ever since. He inherited his Dad's happy heart...he didn't crawl - it wasn't fast enough to suit him. He would raise up on all fours, locate his desired destination, drop back down to the floor and roll, until he arrived...once he learned upright locomotion, he didn't walk, he pranced on his tippy toes - his entire being vibrating with excitement and enthusiasm. He learned how to keep a beat when he was just a couple of months old - he would bounce up and down in his car seat, keeping time to the music...any music. (I should have known then that he would grow up to be an impressive musician!) He could light up a room, and light up a heart (still can), in a New York Minute.  He was bright, inquisitive, competitive, funny, loving....he prayed every night for the planets - naming them, in order, no less....and although I have no idea what he prays for at night these days, I know that he is still all of those things. He is an artist, a poet, a leader, a faithful friend, an athlete, strong as an ox, a person of faith...he has a wonderful sense of humor, a gift for mimicry, and a love for animals. He is good big brother, and an amazing son, and I miss him more than mere words could ever convey....I miss my little buddy - the 3 year old who could name all of the dinosaurs....I miss the 8 year old who would sit on my lap and tell me all about his day....I miss the 11 year old who left bits and pieces of a vast collection of Bionicles all around the house, I miss the 14 year old who wanted me to mind my own beeswax, I miss the 16 year old who was so proud of his new found independence....I miss the music - of his guitar, and of his soul....but he is out there - face turned to the sun, looking in the direction of his bright and shiny future....and I am here, waiting for the closing of a car door - waiting for the moment when home feels like home again, and we are all once again together. I am Thankful today, for the gift of my Son - my priceless treasure - my College Boy.

I did....and I do.....

The countdown has begun. The 20 lb. Turkey is thawing in the fridge, the lists are made, I've doubled my sourdough starter to handle the extra baking, the house is getting fluffed and buffed (translate dusted and vacuumed), the girls new shabby chic bathroom is completed and ready to be revealed to College Boy when he gets home tomorrow (I hope the shock is not too great for his system)....Thanksgiving is here, within reach. Today, I based my Children's Sermon on a Chocolate Glazed Donut, and the old rhyme "As you go through you life, make this  your goal - Look at the Donut and not the hole." You  get the drift - don't focus on those things that you don't have, or the things that are bad or sad or make you mad...focus on the good, the blessings in your life (And boy, did I ever focus on that Donut after second service - I gobbled it down, and was Thankful, let me tell you!). In my preparation time, I thought alot about the donut theory...as it applied to Children, as it applied to the adult congregants....as it applied to me. If you boil my life down to it's very essence, there, at the center, is my family....those four people who mean more to me than life itself, and that family was started the day I met John. I was a few days late reporting to the Waterside Theatre to begin my contract. I needed to check in, to get my actors housing assignment and my rehearsal schedule. As I made my way backstage, I saw him....jet black hair, twinkling eyes, deep tan, short shorts and work boots - carrying a load of wood across the stage. I remember wondering if his first name started with "J". (A few years before, against my better judgement, I went with some friends to have our palms read, and Madame Day assured me that I would marry a man whose name started with the letter "J"). I had no rehearsals with the handsome boy, but was introduced to him a few days later at a Pizza Joint - his name did indeed start with the letter "J", and the rest, as they say, is history. Although, I was first attracted to his magnetic good looks and mischievous eyes (in all honestly, I'm sure it also had something to do with how fine he looked in those short shorts!), I soon came to know that John had the happiest heart of any person I had ever met - a balm to mine, which always seemed to beat with a lingering melancholy. 27 years have passed since that summer, and our lives together have been full...full of laughter and joy, full of sorrow and hard times. In the last four years, that happy heart of his has taken quite a beating, as life has dealt him - dealt us - blow after blow. It is a testimony to the quality of our love, that we have weathered it all....that we still laugh together, still work together for the common good of our family, still look forward to holding each other as we drift off to sleep....that we would do it all over again, given the choice. I am thankful today, for this good man...this man that can't close a cabinet door to save his life, this man that goes out of his way to help widows and children, this man who can still make me laugh, this man who no longer wears short shorts,this man that I have parented with, this man that I would share my last sip of Coke with...I am thankful that we chose each other, that we continue to choose each other - every day, for better for worse...for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health - cleaving unto each other,  just as we promised - so many years ago.

No broken bones....

Today's Thankful Thing is a no brainer! On this day, I am exceedingly Thankful that no one was standing behind me as I entered the movie theatre. We were all so excited - we were mere minutes away from seeing Breaking Dawn, part two. (Do. not. hate....Do. not. judge. - I am not ashamed to admit that I have loved both the books and the films.The scarf, dark glasses and trench coat were just necessary parts of my wardrobe today!) The girls went ahead to get the seats - I followed  behind, as I had to make a pit stop - My bladder has shared space with three babies, after all - it can't be expected to be in prime working condition...the poor thing can barely make it through a movie that in any way involves the drinking of soda. In my desire to get into my seat so as not to miss any previews, I was moving along at a pretty clippy pace. Down the hall, 2nd theatre on the left....I went through the wide double archway and made an immediate right. The problem? The entry into the Theatre itself was to the left...to my right was a cement wall, camouflaged in inky black velvet - masquerading as a through way. I discovered this sad fact only after I did a face plant - right into the cement wall, and let me tell you, fluffy girl bounced...and yelped (OK - maybe wailed like a banshee might be a more accurate description, and at the risk of being guilty of TMI, it is a VERY good thing that I had emptied my bladder just moments before, so great was my degree of surprise). I can only imagine what I must have looked like - it's a shame, really, that it wasn't recorded. Had it been, I could have earned a record amount of Christmas Spending money, after the footage went viral, I won America's Funniest Home Video, and I became an instant celebrity after I guest starred on that MTV show Ridiculousness...... I am also thankful to report that no bones were broken, no teeth knocked out, and the only thing that appears to be bruised is my ego! After I steadied myself for a bit, I schlumped into the theatre, took my seat, and recounted my tale of woe to my female progeny.....whereupon they neither looked concerned or inquired as to my welfare...they were too busy waking the dead and shaking the seats with their laughter. I didn't have time to be indignant, because the lights dimmed, the screen flared to life, and we were transported into the wonderful world that is the cinema. The movie was so very well made - with the craziest twist I have ever witnessed - one that may or may not have caused me to throw my arms up in the air and yelp again - this time in disbelief! By movie's end, there was a wad of Kennedy girls - we were so entwined, half sitting on top of each other - it took us beyond the end of the credits to untangle ourselves and gain our feet....I walked out of the Theatre (with more care than I entered it!), Thankful that my daughters love the whole movie experience as much as I do - we always have the best time. And did you know, that Chick Fil A has already started serving their Christmas Peppermint Milkshake?! Today was an embarrassment of riches, I tell you.....a long awaited movie, time with my girls, Peppermint Milkshakes AND no broken bones.....when ya got it.....ya got it!

Silver Linings and Aches and Pains....

It was not my fault......I was in the Dollar Store, minding my own business, when I realized they were playing Christmas music...and not just any Christmas music, but "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" Christmas music....it's the first time in 34 years that it has caught me out in public unawares like that....you see - that is the song that I associate with my Mom's death. It was Christmas, my Freshman year in college, and I had attended my first Masqueraders Ball - a big bash thrown by the Theatre Honor Society - fancy clothes, nice dance floor....DISCO MUSIC!!(I was a Disco QUEEN, I tell you) Towards the end of the night, several students sang a short concert. I will never forget when a Freshman stepped out onto the floor, took the microphone and sang "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas." She was so good, her voice so full of emotion....I was floored - and moved, and more than anything, I wanted to be able to sing just like that....The next day, her rendition was still on a loop in my head - the day my Sister came and rushed me to the Hospital to be with my Mom. All through the night as my Mom lay dying, that song was the soundtrack of her slowing breath, her moans of agony. Each year, when I hear that song for the first time, it brings that memory with it...crystalline - a moment frozen in time - that is how I happened to find myself shopping in the Dollar Tree this morning, pushing my little buggy, tears streaming down my face. (At least it wasn't that Damned "Christmas Shoe" song.....the first time I ever heard THAT one, I was driving the car, and had to pull over so as not to be a danger to myself or others, until the sobbing subsided!) Today, in the midst of my tears, it came to me that I was Thankful for the memory....for all my memories. None are quite so bad as that one, and most are wonderful....truly wonderful....Growing up in the best neighborhood in the world - catching fireflies after bathtime, all of us running around in our Summer PJ's, the Freedom of driving, My College years, the Summer I lived in Burnsville, my years of being a working actress, the Summer I met John, Our Wedding, the days my Children were born, watching my babies grow....good days, bad days, and all the in between days. I have been told more than once that I have a remarkable memory, and indeed, I sometimes embarrass myself by saying, "Hey, remember when we......", and no one else does. I see it as a gift of greatest worth - the ability to recall so clearly the momentous, the mundane - the silver linings, the aches and pains - sense memories of the colors of my days...such a comfort, to a Mid Life Wife.

Bookworm and proud....

It's all up there waiting for me.....clean sheets on the bed (600 thread count), favorite nightgown freshly laundered, the good winter blanket tucked in with hospital corners, and perhaps, most importantly....my book. The book du jour is The Order of the Phoenix.(I tend to read the whole Harry Potter series during times of high stress....I can't tell you how many times I have read them) After I'm done with the set, I have 2 or 3 other books waiting in the wings. Books have been my constant companion, and they inhabit my earliest memories...so today, and every day, I am Thankful for books - Thankful that I love to read. I have been transported to lands that I am quite certain I will never see, but I feel as though I have lived there.....I have been Queens, indentured servants, Doctors, Nurses, Presidents, an angst filled teenager yearning to become a vampire...I have been a college professor whose specialty is religious symolism, an adolescent wizard, a Princess Bride, a persecuted jew in hiding, a maiden in distress. Books have been my caretaker when I was sick, my friend when I was lonely, they have satisfied my yearning for adventure, they have broadened my mind and nurtured my soul. They ensure I never have to eat alone, and that I always have something to occupy my time. They have helped me pass countless hours with my children - hours filled with delight and wonder - on snow days, sick days, bedtime and anytime. They have been a bonding agent with my teenagers, as we discovered commonalities in books we read in tandem - they have allowed us to share the same language at a time when dialogue can be sparse between parent and child. They have provided a lexicon of family jokes (mostly at Johns expense, when he read that Omnivores Dilemma...and it turned him into a corn hating, meat bashing grump!) They have helped me raise my children, providing me with answers to my questions on every subject from weaning to symptom guides and charts, before the advent of Web M.D. In most of the rooms in my house, you will find a Bible and a Dictionary....my two favorite books.What better vacation for mind, body and soul than that which begins "Once upon a time...."? It doesn't have to end with "Happily Ever After", buts it's nice when it does......even if only in books......I had an elementary teacher that used to deride students for being a bookworm....would say scathingly, "You better get your nose out of that book, or it will get stuck there....".....To my way of thinking, no matter where you are - if you have a good book, you are never stuck! And now, off to the clean sheets, the favorite nightgown.... Hogwarts awaits! (Now where DID I put my glasses....?)

A Possibilitarian...

The girls are wanting a bathroom re-do. They figure since College Boy lives elsewhere now, they are due a girlie bathroom for the first time in their lives, and I tend to agree. Shabby Chic is the desired theme, and we have been planning for weeks. Since we are working on a shoestring budget (and by shoestring, I mean non-existent), we are scavenging in closets, and storage bins, and trying to think outside the box. They have agreed on a yet to be purchased Shower Curtain (very shabby, very chic) at that bastion of French good taste.....Target. (Come on now, say it with me using your best French accent - it's fun, I promise). The girls found a really cool, somewhat sophisticated fabric at our local yard goods outlet in the $1.00 bin, and I will use that to make a new curtain for the window. An old Cottage-y style shelf  purchased at a yard sale, and some pottery and lace, and we are mostly good to go - still looking for an old bird-cage and a few nik-naks, but other than that, we've just about gathered all we need. (I am still longing for the lamp we saw the other day in an antique store made out of an old blue mason jar...I may have to break bad and spend the $15.00, because it would be fabulous on their vanity). Today after school, we were looking for some inspiration for artwork for the walls, so we googled one of our favorite boutique artists - Kelly Rae Roberts. Her art is whimsical - part Victorian, part new age-y feel good stuff, part edgy, and just the thing to give us some ideas for a project. As we scrolled down Google images, my eye was snagged by a print that said "I am a Possibilitarian". Babiest girl and I said "I LOVE that", at just the same time. The more I thought about it, the more I decided that I was indeed a Possibilitarian, and that became my Thankful Thing for today. I can see the possibilities in most everything. An old beat up house with nasty carpet and hideous wallpaper, a piece of discarded furniture on the side of the street,a carport, a broken necklace, a stained tee shirt....these are things that can be fluffed and buffed, repainted, restrung or tie dyed.....and more often than not, I can also see the possibilities in situations that might be bad, or scary, or sad. It is, I think, a trait inherited from my Father, who was a Possibilitarian thru and thru. It is this very thing that has pulled me through more times than I can count. I am thankful that I can look past the tired, the beat up, the ugly, the old, the scary and see the possibility. And now, it's back upstairs for me - I need to finish putting the clothes in my "new" dresser - bought at a yard sale(Way past it's prime), sanded and restained - beautiful detail and classic lines brought back to life, with a pinch of elbow grease and a dash of possibility.

Talons, and Wings and Beaks....oh MY!

Babiest girl is working on her Silver award for Girl Scouts - so on this, the 12th day of the Month of Gratitude, I am thankful for my quick reflexes. It started out happily enough - a trip to a neighboring town with Babiest Girls Award Partner and her Dad - the girls are lifelong friends, and I can barely remember a time when we did not know this family. Excitement was in the air, for this was the day we were purchasing the Chickens! The Silver Award is the second highest Award in Girl Scouts, and these two girls have been planning and working for months. The project? They  will raise Chickens (Not the baby kind....more like the teenager kind) until they are laying well, and then give the Chickens, the coop, the fencing for the yard and a detailed care guide (written by the girls) to a halfway house here in our town, providing the residents with a fresh and mostly free source of protein (the eggs, not the chickens themselves), with the added bonus of giving them something to care for. And best of all, we will be raising the Chickens here...at our house! Babiest Girl has been delirious with excitement - raising Chickens is a dream come true for her, and I must admit - I was really digging the idea. I mean, we make our own laundry detergent, I bake our bread, I drive a car that has a bumper sticker that reads "Hippie Chicks Rule"....I had some pretty groovy visions of living the pastoral city life, with Chickens softly clucking, and fresh eggs free for the gathering. Spirits were high as we pulled into the parking lot of the Feed and Seed.....and then, it hit me. Chickens are really just great big birds....have I mentioned that I have an Avian Fear rooted in Childhood Trauma? My sister, 10 years my senior had this bird....a nasty blue parakeet named Tweetie (How clever...I mean, really!). She would take the predator out of his cage, stroke his plumage, and instruct him to "Find Kelley". He would zoom around the house until he found my hiding place, where I was bleeding fear, and he would fly into my face and peck at me until my Mother came running. The happiest day of my young life was the morning we found that feathered monster dead in his cage, belly up, feet pointing to the heavens. It is proof of my great love for College Boy that I allowed the same Sister to give him birds (that's right - plural) for his Birthday one year.... That didn't go too well.... but I digress. As we perused the Chickens available for purchase, I was mesmerized by their feet....they have....well, Talons.....gigantic ones. And wings....with quite a large span.....and......Beaks - the better to peck you with. In my heart, I started pulling for the little green and bluish ones - they didn't look quite so menacing, but as luck would have it, they were adolescent Roosters - we, of course, needed hens. Which is how we came to purchase the reddish ones - with the biggest talons of all. Being the selfless Mother that I am, when it came time to select the birds, I let the girls stand right up by the coops, so THEY could have a good look, and select just the right Hens....I stayed back a little...I know....I'm a giver. The salesman opened the door, to grab the first one, and to everyone's surprise (But mostly to mine), a chicken literally flew the coop and headed straight for my head....I mean, what do I have?! Some kind of aura that says to birds....OVER HERE....PECK THIS ONE'S EYE'S OUT?! But I was ready, with my best duck and cover move....the old reflexes still in working order.The two girls laughingly sprang into action, and chased down the offending creature. Babiest Girl's Award partner cradled the beast to her chest and murmured "There, there...you're OK". Well....I'm glad the dadgummed Chicken was OK, because I sure wasn't. I excused myself with a vague, "Oh, I want to go inside and buy some apples" - leaving the others to get the Dear little things settled into the cage for the ride back to my house......MY HOUSE?! Holy Cow, what was I thinking? I peered into the cage as it was being loaded into the car, and made my inventory, making a clear assessment of the danger I had placed my family in. Talons.....Check. Big Flappy Wings.....Check. Beaks.....wait a minute......these babies have had their beaks shaved down....hooty hoo! That's one in my favor.....but hold on....what's that you say? The beaks will grow back?....great. As we pulled into the driveway, the girls decided that the most pressing task at hand was naming the little darlings...So, as the Dad set to installing the heat light in the coop, the girls sat on a bale of hay inside the fencing, with the Chickens clucking and scratching in the dirt at their feet. My request for the first name was instantly honored, so the prettiest of the three was named Abigail (a nice, friendly name with the hopes that her disposition will match)....Baby Girl joined us in the yard as soon as we got home, and she claimed the honor, as the oldest sister, of naming the next one.....Falcon - due to the size of her TALONS.....Babiest girl and her partner named the third......Kesha......just because. Kesha appears to have significant suicidal tendencies, coupled with a dumb streak a mile long. Just as I was starting to relax a bit(I was standing OUTSIDE of the fencing, after all) - feeling as if my pastoral daydreams might actually be within reach (as long as somebody else takes care of the birds....), Kesha flew into the deer netting that we strung over the fencing, and found the only spot large enough for her massive wings and razor sharp tallons to emerge.....right where I was standing, and for the second time in less than an hour, I once again marveled that my reflexes were that of a 10 year old, that my voice was in prime screeching condition, and that my knees are not really as bad as I thought, because they hauled my fluffy carcass swiftly away from Kesha.....the Kamikaze Chicken. The bird was caught, adjustments were made to the netting, and as of this moment, our little flock are snug in their coop - nesting away - oblivious to the havoc they have wreaked on my last nerve......as for me - let me just say, that there is not enough Coca Cola and Chocolate in the world to soothe THIS kind of stress.....but I rest secure in the knowledge that my reflexes remain top notch.....something to be thankful for, indeed.

The Heart of a Band Geek.....

Just as I thought I could not take another step up ANOTHER big hill, I heard them....the rap tap tap of the Marching Band Cadence. I am happy to report that the heart of a band geek still beats in my chest, because up the hill I went. I was rewarded with the most beautiful sight - a massive college marching band, resplendent in Black and Gold, dancing in line as they were getting ready to begin their trek to the stadium. I looked at my watch, and a tear escaped my eye as I realized that at that moment, the man who put the love of all things Marching Band in my heart was being laid to rest. "Uncle Dave" was my Band director; the man who fought for me, when as a young girl I decided to play the Trumpet....a place where no girl had dared to go, in my little town. He pushed, he prodded, he tutored, and did not rest until I sat in the First chair of  the Trumpet section. He taught me to bear merciless teasing with grace and a stiff upper lip, and he may be responsible in part, for my ability to comeback in almost any situation with a snappy rejoinder. He let me into the all male world of "Jazz Band", and glared down any fella who dared question my right to be there. He taught me the beauty of proper musical phrasing, and how to play a jazz riff. I loved him with all my heart....he was the first person to look at my grey hair last year and say, "For the love of heaven, put some color on that hair - you're making me feel old!" He was 94 when he passed away a few weeks ago, and it was hard to find myself absent from the service that honored his life, yesterday...but he would have been the first one to tell me to go, and be with my family....to drive up the mountain and see College Boy, and the football game....and the Band. So that is how I found myself laboring up countless Hills....I mean, seriously....WHO puts the Football Stadium at the Highest Point on a Campus FULL of  steep inclines? All this is to say.....Yesterday was day four of my foul mood. In the days since I last wrote (on day ONE of my foul mood), I have tried to dutifully post my daily Thankful Thing, but everything I wrote was morose, or angry, or just generally dark and unpleasant, so I made good and proper use of the delete button. It should speak volumes that yesterday, as we drove up the Mountain, the prospect of seeing College Boy, even if just for the day, did NOTHING to improve my funk.....even SEEING him brought no improvement.  (Which could explain why I really was less than impressed with my first foray into "tailgaiting", but it's probably best not to go there.....). So there I was gasping for breath like a shore stranded fish, holding my back with one hand and my knee with another, laboring up that dadgummed hill....when I had my first truly Thankful Thought in several days....I was Thankful for Uncle Dave....for the love and time and care he invested in my life - for the music he shared with me, and thousands of others in his long career as a Band Teacher. With the drum cadence ringing in my ears, I felt the slightest lifting of "the. foul. mood." As we entered the Stadium (Finally! I mean - just how far do they expect old worn out people to climb and walk before collapsing?!), we left College Boy in the student section, and went to find our seats. The weather was perfect - sunny and mostly warm (Although, let me whine a little here - for the first quarter of the game I thought we would be blinded for life, due to the fact that the sun was directly in our eyes - but I'm SURE that I handled it with no complaining or drama....whatsoever.....) and there, in those less than comfortable stadium bleachers I found my second Thankful Thing of the day...Two little guys - one long and lean, the other, short and round - about 8 or 9 years old, were sitting in front of us. Each time a song they liked was played - either by the band or over the loudspeaker, these boys were up on their feet, dancing with such joy, such abandon, such a lack of concern for what anybody thought, that my bad mood was banished...as surely as a dementor is vaporized by a Patronus! (OK, yes, I am reading Harry Potter again...). Just like that - it was gone. These little guys were so full of life, so ebullient, that it was contagious - and I was Thankful (and vastly entertained... I mean those fellas had some moves!). Behind us, was a group of about 7 or 8 people in their mid 20's. They arrived loaded down with contraband mini bottles (tequilla, I think), and apparently they had already polished off the much larger cousin of those mini bottles, prior to their arrival. They were a contentious lot, and did a lot of arguing - especially the husband and wife....midway through the second half, there was a little drama, when two of the ladies indulged in a little girl on girl display of affection, and some of their party was offended....including one of the participants husbands! More drinking, drama, and huffing off to the bathroom ensued (By the folks behind us, not by me - just wanted to be clear!)....whereupon I experienced my Third Thankful Thing of the day.....I was TRULY Thankful that not a one of them threw up on any of us sitting in front of them, and I was REALLY Thankful when they left sometime in the fourth quarter. More Thanks as we were leaving the Stadium, and I realized that the hike to the little Mexican Restaurant we planned on having dinner in, down on the Main Drag, was mostly downhill! After an amazing and really reasonably priced meal, it was time for hugs and goodbyes as we dropped College Boy off at his dorm (Once we rescued our Car from the tailgating lot.....which was over in east Jerusalem!). More thanks at Bedtime, for being able to lay these old bones in a prone position. Today - I am thankful for the lifting of THE MOOD....I feel much more like myself....thanks be unto God, and I face tomorrow, thankful that the Band Geek in me still lives, marching along to the Cadence of my days. 

A Rare Occurrence....

It's a good thing that I don't get in a mood like this very often! I guess that can be my Thankful Thing for today...."I am thankful that it is a rare occurrence to find myself in such a dark mood" - there, I said it. The problem is, I'm not quite sure what caused it...I mean, I should be pretty jolly. My candidate won, I get to see College Boy in two days time, my kitchen is clean....all good things. But I am in such a foul mood that I can hardly stand myself, and as I have snapped at each member of my household at least once, I'm sure they feel the same. Maybe it is because, as my friend Dasch says, Mercury is in Retrograde. Maybe it is because I got a woefully limited amount of sleep last night, or maybe it has something to do with the flashes of hatred I have seen today - all bandied about in the name of being " the only true Christians". My favorite quote of the day, found on a page that a FaceBook friend had commented on (it appeared on the right hand scrolly down thingy and I should have KNOWN better - I should NOT have clicked on it....when WILL I learn?) came at the end of a particularly long, rambling and poorly written comment - where the writer extolled her many virtues, which of course allowed her to fully know the will of God. She closed by saying, "Well, it's time to load up on Ammo and Faith...." It's actually a clever little tag...in it's own repulsive way. And there have been other jabs....all day long - each one taking a little bite out of my serenity, pushing every one of my buttons, and taking a jackhammer to my last nerve. And the saddest thing is, with all of this sanctimonious posturing, I did not read one comment that questioned the obscene amount of money spent on the campaigns... plural.... meaning on both sides. Not one comment that derided the Pacs for their fear based advertising, that only fueled the absurd claims made in the days leading up to the election, and on this, the day after. I despair, not for our country tonight, but for her citizens...For the absolutism that has permeated such a large segment of our population...on both sides. I feel discouraged - how do I balance this out for my Children? Help them to reject the sting of those who would have them feel damned for wanting civil equality for all people. How do I remind them that no single group has dibs on being the only one in the right....there is no Monopoly on God among people of faith, as I see it...as I want THEM to see it. I TOLD you I was in a dark place. The best thing to come out of this day? Bedtime, which is.....right about now. I hope to wake up refreshed and renewed, so that I can get about the business of plugging along....and maybe, just maybe, my Thankful Thing for tomorrow will be that I will not allow myself to read or write another Political rant..........nah.