Everyday Life – Page 22 – The Monica Chronicles

March 16, 2013

What Are the Odds?

It’s amazing how each day, no matter how routine, can offer the most marvelous opportunities.

On Monday evening I attended my first meeting of the Greene County Women’s Club. I’ve known about the club for more than a year, many of the women from my church are members and consequently, their events and programs frequently make our weekly announcements. I’d paid some lip service to a couple of the gals about “having to come” to a meeting but for whatever reason have been reluctant about leaving the comfort of my home for a meeting.

This past Sunday after Mass, my friend Moira cornered me, but her hands on both my shoulders and said, “Don’t forget the Women’s Club meeting tomorrow night.” After such a personal invitation, how could I pretend to have forgotten again? So, the next evening, after an early dinner, I headed off to the church to check out the Greene County Women’s Club.

The meetings are held in our parish hall, a remodeled home adjacent to the church, a place that is very familiar to me. As I walked into the meeting room, Moira greeted me in a St. Patty’s Day sweater with huge shamrocks across her chest and a pair of bobby shamrock antennae on her head. “Oh good, you came!” she said, “Come on in and get a name tag.”

With my name safely stuck to my chest, I mingled through the room recognizing many of faces I saw. Everyone was very warm and welcoming, asking where I lived, how long I’ve lived here, where did I work; the usual. Then, someone asked, “Did you used to live in Virginia Beach?” I quickly scanned the face and then the name tag and on went the bulb in my brain – standing before me was my friend, Linda, whom I hadn’t seen in twenty years! I let out a shriek and gave her a big hug.

I ask you, what are the odds? Linda wasn’t just a casual friend, she was a good friend. We’d met through the kids’ elementary school where she taught both Maggie and Andy in third grade. We served on the PTA board together, had picnics, spent summer days on the beach sunning and reading while our kids romped in the surf. I don’t know when we lost touch with each other, but twenty years, and moves to Newport, Hawaii and back to Virginia Beach, took their toll, many close friends from those days were misplaced. People move, mail forwarding expires and lives move on.

How both could find each other in the Shepherd of the Hills parish hall in a very small town in Central Virginia is no less than miraculous. I’m so glad I went to that meeting. I can’t wait to see who or what will happen at next month’s meeting!

March 11, 2013

First Wedding Prep Trip to Richmond

Friday evening Dave and I drove down to Richmond for a working visit with Maggie and Jan. Maggie and I, along with her friend Kate, were on a quest to find “the dress” for her wedding, while Dave and Jan and Kate’s boyfriend, Kyle, did what most men do during wedding preparations; drink beer and bond.

Since my mother made my wedding gown, a task I didn’t choose to undertake for myself, I had very little knowledge of what wedding gown buying was like except for what I’ve seen on TV; mothers sitting in comfy padded chairs while well-dressed sales clerks bring them glasses of champagne on silver trays. Surprisingly, my real-life experience, bore little resemblance to television. I did get to seat in a comfy seat which bore evidence of having seated many mothers before me, but the sales clerks at David’s bridal, although congenial, were not what I would consider well dressed and no beverages were offered.

Despite the disconnect between fantasy and reality, we did find “the dress” in pretty short order. I don’t want to give away any details about the gown, but suffice it to say, Maggie looked knock dead gorgeous in it and I was happy to have had the luck to find it on our first time out.

Another one of our goals for the weekend was to check out local hotels for our wedding guests. We stayed at the Hampton Inn and it too was a good choice. The staff were friendly and welcoming, the room was comfortable and spotless, and the complementary breakfast was tasty. They are a definite contender.

Maggie and Jan in front of their soon to be new home

Our final goal of the weekend was to see the house Maggie and Jan are in the process of buying. It is a charming 1920’s bungalow in a the Forest Hills section of Richmond, a well established neighborhood just up from the James River. The home has been well maintained and is surrounded by flower beds that, while still in a semi dormant stage, promise to be spectacular when in full bloom. Almost as soon as we’d parked, the neighbors from the right side of the house came over to introduce themselves, followed in short order by the neighbor to the left. They were so welcoming and the house so cute, I almost wished we were moving in there!

The current cat in residence was kind enough to illustrate how comfortable Rupert will be in his new home.

The current owner was away for the weekend, but one of the neighbors was certain she wouldn’t mind if we peaked in the backyard as long as we didn’t let the dog out. So, she opened the gate to let us see the back. It too was delightful, with a porch perfect for sitting, a greenhouse potting shed and more gardens to keep Maggie and Jan busy. There was also a chunky kitty sunning herself on a chair in the yard; a reassurance that Rupert and Ivan will also enjoy their new surroundings.

A step and gate from another time adds to the interest of the neighborhood.

After we checked out the house, we took a short walk around the neighborhood and down to Forest Hills Park. Unlike the areas we lived in most of our married life, where cookie-cutter houses line short streets that end in cul-de-sacs, Forest Hills is a patchwork of homes built at different times by folks with distinctly different styles in mind. The lots are very large for city lots and although most have been updated, many of the old architectural details still remain adding charm and interest. The history of the area hangs in the air, begging to be discovered. I can see why Maggie was drawn to it. She mentioned she is eager to begin volunteering with the local historical society.

As a parent, it is so incredibly rewarding to see your child’s life bud and begin to fully bloom. Maggie and Jan are embarking on an amazing journey together, their path clear and sunny for as far as the eye can see. Just like their new gardens, there is much promise for great beauty with some work and maintenance along the way. As for me, I will enjoy the view from the porch!

March 7, 2013

Grown-Up Snow Day

A couple of weeks ago I wistfully wondered when we would get a good snowfall. I dreamed of finally inflating the snow-tube I got Dave for Christmas two years ago and taking rides down the hill in the backyard. Well, as they say, you should be careful what you wish for.

For several days the weather folk had been predicting a major storm was potentially headed our way. Over the weekend, while checking in with The Weather Channel, I discovered what I thought was an advertisement above the weather map turned out to be the name given our winter storm, Saturn. The maps showed us residing in the epicenter of the maximum snowfall for our area. With a named storm and threatening maps, I decided to run to Foodlion for an extra gallon of milk and a couple of boxes of cookies. We already had a pantry full of canned goods and other ready to eat stuff, but cookies are best in times of stress.

As predicted, the snow began to fall here last Tuesday night at about ten o’clock. The snowflakes were big and wet. I was so excited at the prospect of my sledding adventure the next day that it was difficult to fall asleep. Once I did, my rest was interrupted several times by the sounds of the power coming back on. Apparently, every electrical device in our house has some kind of buzz or beep associated with interrupted electrical current. Each time the power resumed, the washer buzzed, the smoke detectors beeped and the CD player in the kitchen clicked in a vain attempt to recapture the disc it had ejected when the power went out. All this buzzing, beeping and clicking was punctuated by the jingling of kitty collar bells as Izzie and Purrl scurried from room to room to escape the noises and find peace.

Realizing that maybe this wasn’t going to be the kind of event I hoped for with snow play and warm cocoa, I lay awake mentally inventorying my dry goods planning cold meals for at least a couple of days. Cereal for breakfast, pb&j for lunch and ham sandwiches for dinner….

5:00 AM Wednesday (before the power went out again)

A little before 5:00 AM I thought I’d take advantage of a moment with power to brew a pot of coffee so we could at least have something hot to drink with our breakfast. But, just as I pushed the power button on the coffee maker, there was a green flash outside and everything went dark again. I calmly went to the pantry to grab my portable light bulb but it was dead. The second one worked and I went to the garage to grab the lantern. It worked fine but the big flashlight next to it was also dead.

All this activity had me too wound up to go back to bed. Instead, I threw the switch on the gas fireplace and after a pregnant pause followed by a reassuring “poof” I had heat! I curled up on the couch with a yellow fuzzy afghan and napped there for an hour or so.

Breakfast was easy. We had plenty of milk and cereal, juice and fruit so that part was pretty normal. Sadly, the coffee never made it through its cycle so we were reduced to drinking Cokes for our morning jolt; a truly Southern tradition, but not one I readily embrace except as a means of avoiding a caffeine headache.

Not long after we’d finished our breakfast, the power came back on! In short order the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the house and we held warm mugs in our hands. The sky was really gray and it was still snowing pretty hard so we decided to wait a while before we headed out to shovel and then play.

By the time we actually got bundled up and out the door to shovel, the temperature was close to 40 degrees and the snow was becoming wetter and heavier. Dave fired up the snow-blower and headed down the drive while I cleared the walk with my ergonomic snow shovel.

The news reporters called this “heart attack” snow because of its density and weight. It was quite a job clearing the ten inches or so of snow from our sixty foot drive. It looked like Dave had the easier job pushing the snow-blower but after I gave it a try, I decided I’d rather go back to the shovel. Although it moves the snow faster, it is loud and is harder to push up the drive than it looked. I think had the snow been lighter and fluffy, it might have been another story. We’ll see, hopefully next year.

Our snow removal took a little over an hour. It was after lunch time when we finished and I was sopping wet, pooped and hungry. So, we came inside, put our hats and gloves over the heat ducts and warmed up some chili and rice and then settled down for well deserved afternoon naps.

No, we never did inflate the snow tube. We didn’t make a snowman or even throw a snowball like we did when we were kids. Instead, we did the grown-up stuff that grown-ups do. Today, I am reminded of the grown-up stuff by a really stiff lower back. I am also aware of just how poorly prepared I was had the power outage continued. At least two of my back up lights had dead batteries and it probably would be a good idea to have a couple of cans of Sterno on hand to at least heat my supply of canned goods when my gas grill has ten inches of snow on top.

Red sky at night, sailors delight (and mountaineers too!)

Despite the lack of snow play time, it winter storm Saturn was a beauty to behold. Seeing everything around me blanketed in white, hearing the insulating quiet of the snow and then the giggles of the little ones across the street as they slid down the hill in the front lawn with their daddy all made the day one to remember. But then, as the sun went down and the day ended, God smiled on us and promised nicer weather on the way.

Last night I slept well. The excitement and physical work of the day had worn me out. My snow lust for this year had been sated. I think I’ll readjust my wistful wonderings to springtime and start looking for the signs of new life. Spring is only two weeks away.

March 1, 2013

My “Bucket” List

devil One of my dreams came true last night. After a dozen years of watching Duke basketball on TV, I finally got to see them play live. The game wasn’t in Cameron, but you can’t have everything, including a winning team.

The Duke – Virginia game was the last in a set Dave and I had tickets for. In the course of this season, I have moved from politely rooting for the home team to a becoming a fan. The games have been everything a college basketball fan could want, full of excitement, incredible shots and questionable calls on the part of the officials. From our seats way up in the nose-bleed section, we’ve had an excellent vantage point of the John Paul Jones Arena. At earlier games, I was surprised by all the empty seats in the stands and the relatively small student attendance given the size of UVA. In comparison, students cram onto the bleachers in Cameron, unable to sit because there simply isn’t enough room. Last night the JPJ was packed!

From my lofty perch I could see a sea of orange with the random dots of blue scattered about. In the moments before the tip-off, the band, cheerleaders and dance team led the home team fans in cheers lifting both the level of excitement as well as volume. The UVA fans were out for blood; blue blood!

Once the play began, the noise was deafening. The fellow beside me decided he would cheer extra loud when I discovered I was rooting for Duke and clapped in my left ear most of the game. I, in turn, retaliated with a hearty cheer when Duke scored, although that didn’t happen as often as I would have liked.

As the game wore on and my Blue Devils struggled to take the lead (which sadly they never did), I saw many Duke fans retreat quietly to the exit. Faithful to the bitter end, I cheered my team on despite their failure to score and the dirty looks I received from the UVA fans around me when I clapped in approval for a Duke basket.

When the game finally ended, the UVA fans rushed the court, celebrating their victory over the giant. Dave and I left in silence. Sure, we were disappointed to see our team lose, but more than that, we’d learned just hard it is for any team to take the court as visitors to any home court. Granted, all arenas are loud and the cheers are the same with the home team’s name “inserted here”. At this level teams are accustomed to playing with the noise, but just from sitting in the seats in the nose bleed section, I could feel the difference between cheering for a team vice jeering against them. I was both stalwart and intimidated, proud and humbled.

So, I guess my dream coming true wasn’t what I had expected it to be. It would have been nicer if my team had won. It was after all, just one game and not their last. There will always be another game and Duke will probably always be my team because I have followed them so closely for so many years but next year, I’m sure I’ll be back in the nose bleed section of the John Paul Jones Arena, cheering for UVA, unless of course my Devils come back to town.

Footnote: Duke has won 17 of the last 19 games played against UVA….. I’m just saying.

February 19, 2013

Snowy Memories

It’s snowing again! This winter I have thoroughly delighted in the many flurries we’ve had; each one a lovely surprise. This morning for example, just minutes after the weather man predicted a long cold rainy day, literally out of the blue (or grey) the sky was full of big, white, fluffy flakes dancing to the ground. Here at my kitchen table, facing my back yard, I have a front row seat to the snow show. It is exciting in its unexpectedness.

These flurried moments are such a gift! They hold such a possibility of excitement; school closings, power outages, driving challenges. Granted, not all of these things are welcomed, depending on your perspective. As a kid I remember sitting by the radio waiting for my school’s name to be called on snowy mornings, hoping for the blessed “snow day”. My mother, on the other hand, I am certain wished that school would not be cancelled and she could have a few hours of peace and quiet.

Bundled and ready for a snowy adventure.

Snow is among the top headlines of my childhood memories. Living in the snow belt of Western New York State, snow was a given during any winter season. Despite the snow and ice, most of my memories of cold wintery weather are so warm; memories of sledding, making snow angels and building snow forts.

To protect us from the cold we were bundled in thick layers of clothing that took a long time to wriggle into. Multiply that by four or five and you get an idea of what my poor mother would go through to get us ready to brave the cold on snow days and school days. Yes, even on school days we had to be bundled against the cold. It was a long walk down to the end of the driveway to wait for the bus. As a little girl in the early 60’s, I was expected to wear a skirt to school regardless of the weather, although we were allowed to wear snow-pants underneath to and from. And then there were the boots. The boys wore big black rubber boots with metal locking buckles. I can’t remember what color my boots were, only the difficulty in sliding them over my shoes. Mom heard somewhere that if we put our shoes in bread bags and then slid them into the boots, the boots would slide on easily. It worked well, but I can’t say that I really liked wearing Wonder Bread wrappers over my shoes. Luckily, we weren’t that fashion conscious in those days.

Once out in our yard, we had what seemed like an immense ice cap to explore. A large pine tree with low hanging branches sat in our front yard. The weight of the snow would bend the branches to meet the ground forming a perfect shelter beneath. When the snow was really deep, we would tunnel out a doorway and to the inside and pretend we were Eskimos. It was so very quiet in our igloo under those pine branches insulated by several inches of snow and the air was full of the sweet smell of the pine needles. The protection was so perfect that the floor of our shelter was green grass, an amazing sight for children in a wintery yard.

On one side of our house was a big hill perfect for snow coasters. Since Dad worked all day, the only time he could play with us was in the evening. So, he put a light atop a pole at the top of the hill to light the hillside. After a good snow, we’d go out to the hill and patiently wait while Dad made our coaster run. Slowly and intentionally he would move down the slope, rocking back and forth, creating a deep furrow and banking curves that would steer us clear of the pond to the far right at the base of the hill. Once the run was ready, we’d take turns flying down the hill under the our special light keeping the dark away. We older kids rode solo but the little ones rode down with Dad or even Mom sometimes. My mother has never really been the outdoorsy type, so to have her play with us was extra special.

Eventually it was time to go inside so one by one, we’d file into the house, stomping the snow from our boots. We were both cold and sweaty, our faces red from the cold. We’d peel off the many layers of clothing, kick off our boots and head upstairs in our stocking feet. I’d like to say we all carefully hung up our coats, hats, snow pants and mittens but I’m sure we left a big heap of wet clothes and bread bags on the floor left by the door. Sometimes, Mom would give us our jammies fresh from the dryer. I can still smell the clean freshness and feel the coziness of that warm flannel against my cold skin. It felt like love.

When my own children were in school, I would watch the television, to see if I could just let them sleep a bit longer and have a day “off the clock”. Living in Virginia

was much different than where I grew up. Days with snow on the ground were few and very far in between. Sometimes years would pass without so much as a good flurry. A couple of times I remember see the flurries in the air and hurrying to bundle the kids up so they could at least feel the flakes on their faces, or try to catch one on their tongues. A couple of inches of snow on the ground was a time for celebration, to dig out whatever warm clothes and boots I might have had for the kids (which at times was plastic bags over their sneakers) and go out into the cold to play in the snow while it lasted. The whole neighborhood would be out front, building snowmen and making snow angels. I tried so hard to pass on the legacy of fun in the snow, even if it was only for a few hours or in some cases, minutes.

But then, like today, all to quickly, as if a switch were thrown, the flurries have ended. Now it is sunny and bright. The pavement and deck are dry and except for my memory of a spontaneous flurry, the snow is gone. But in my mind’s eye, the hill is lit and the coaster run is ready for another flight down.

February 4, 2013

Not So Super Bowl

Like most of my fellow Americans, Dave and I decided to celebrate Super Bowl Sunday by inviting some friends over to watch the game. I spent most of the afternoon chopping and mixing to get most of the dinner prep out-of-the-way prior to our friends’ arrival and by kick off time, I was fully organized, with a glass of red wine in hand, ready to be entertained.

Mind you, I am not now, nor ever have been anything close to a fan of professional football. In fact, through the years you could say that I’ve moved from a complete abhorrence to a respectful tolerance of the NFL. So for me, the attraction of the Super Bowl has always been the commercials and half-time show. It seems that the best and worse talents Madison Avenue has to offer are presented in the breaks in play. Some of my favorites over the years only played a couple of times and then disappeared. Not surprisingly, one of my all time favorites is the EDS spot featuring the cowboys herding cats. (www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pk7yqlTMvp8)

This year, I saw most of the ads in advance on NBC’s Today Show. I have to say, seeing the ads in advance really ruined that aspect of the event for me. Not only was the element of surprise taken away, but in some cases, there was such an obvious attempt to stir the pot and create controversy over a couple of the commercials, that it practically sucked the fun right out of them. The ad that I think was made way too much of was the VW ad featuring the tall white guy from Minnesota speaking in a Jamaican accent because he was happy. There were some who asserted the ad was racist. I think VW counteracted very well by putting the additional spot later in the game with an actual Jamaican. At least he looked more the part – if you believe only black people live in Jamaica. Now who’s being racist? (According to the last census, 25% of Jamaicans are not black.)

As it turned out, my favorite commercial this year featured the boy and the baby Clydesdale. It touched my heart. I also especially liked the pistachio ad featuring Psy and a chorus line of nuts dancing Gangnam Style. I don’t know why, but I love that catchy little song and the dance that does with it. It makes me feel happy – sort of like Bobby McFarrin’s “Don’t Worry, Be Happy”. Not only was it simple and up beat, but it fed right into the many parodies of the song on YouTube. I enjoy someone who can laugh at themselves.

By the time we finished our delicious Shrimp and Grits, the first half was over. The Ravens were leading (I was pulling for them since they are from the East Coast, I like purple and Michael Oher plays for them and I liked “The Blind Side”.) After much ado and flourish, Beyoncé took the stage for the half time show. Again, there was a great deal of conversation in the press regarding whether or not her singing of the National Anthem at the Obama inauguration last month was live or recorded. A big “who cares” in my book. It was her voice, it was lovely, enough said. I’ve always like Beyoncé. She has a wonderful voice and I enjoyed her in the last Austin Powers movie.

Her performance honestly surprised me and not in a good way. The sound quality wasn’t good and I could barely make out singing at all. In fact, if I’d had my eyes shut, I’m not certain I’d have known there was music at all. But, since my eyes were open, I had the sad misfortune of witnessing twenty minutes (give or take) of bumping and grinding.

I don’t consider myself a prude and maybe all prudes say that but I don’t find that entertaining. After making a few comments about the jerking and gyrating, Dave remarked that the act wasn’t geared towards us; we weren’t the target audience. Okay, then who was? I read on Facebook that my nine-year-old grandson remarked to his mother that he thought the show was inappropriate. So, I guess the target was somewhere between nine and fifty-seven.

This morning on Today, the reporter covering the half-time show gushed with praise about Beyoncé’s performance and showed clips of interviews with women who saw it live who thought it was wonderful as well. What am I missing? Am I really that out of touch with American culture or are we all being told what to like by a network with ties to the entertainment industry engaging in self-promotion of its interests under the guise of news reporting?

I think what I really missed was watching an episode of Downton Abbey to spend four hours watching a sport I don’t like, seeing commercials I’d already seen and witnessing a “musical” performance that I found tasteless and as Caleb so eloquently put it, inappropriate.

I don’t think I’ll feel the same about entertaining on Super Bowl Sunday next year.

January 15, 2013

Arming Myself With Hope

This morning as I sipped my coffee playing Letterpress with my sister Barb (a game we’re addicted to that we play on our I-Pads) a story on the Today show caught my attention. The piece concerned self-defense classes in Texas; not the self-defense classes where folks are taught how to break away from an attacker, break a nose or give a good kick to the soft bits, but a pull out your gun and pull the trigger, potentially kill someone kind of self-defense. It wasn’t the class itself that caught my attention, but the fact that many of the students were teachers, feeling the need to be ready for the next Sandy Hook or Columbine attack. Compounding my shock was the fact that the governor of Texas has offered to pay for these classes for any school employee in the state who wishes to.

Granted, the political benefits of any governor making such an offer are bountiful. I remember having a bet with a friend as to which group had a larger membership, the NEA or the NRA. I can’t recall which one had more members but suffice it to say, both are major players in both elections and public policy. I believe everyone has the right to defend themselves when attacked, but I have real problem with guns in schools.

This is a photo of my elementary school, St Aloysius Catholic School in Springville, NY. Saint Aloysius School It was a safe peaceful place where in the early 1960’s we were in fear only of an attack from TB, polio or the measles. As children living in a farm community, there were guns in our homes – shot guns mostly, for hunting or killing a wood chuck. There were also BB guns and no, I don’t think anyone shot their eye out. I think the major difference between then and today is that guns were viewed as tools and not weapons – at least in my little town.

Fast forward fifty years and I am again living in a small town. It is not unusual to hear a gunshot during the day. I have always assumed it was varmint shooting, but now I’m not so sure.

A couple weeks ago, Dave and I stayed for a cup of coffee in the Hall after Mass and I made an off handed remark about placing armed guards in all of our schools; an idea I find repulsive. Why on earth would we want to have our children grow up believing they will only be safe is they are near someone carrying a gun?

I was surprised by the fact that the majority of the men in the group thought it was an excellent idea. The box was opened and out jumped a very spirited discussion on gun ownership. For the most part, it was the usual… guarantees by the Constitution….blah, blah, blah. (Not discounting the argument, but we’ve all heard it before.) The surprising bit was when the topic of assault rifles came up, one of the guys said they were needed to protect citizens from a “tyrannical government”.

A “tyrannical government”? That statement chilled me to the bone. What is really going on here? Are there really people in this country who believe that believe we need to have assault weapons in our homes to protect ourselves from the government? Why?

I understand there are people who are unhappy with our current administration and we are all rightly frustrated by the inertia of Congress. Everyone who knows me knows how prickly I felt about the eight long years of the last Bush administration. I felt the decisions made put our country on the wrong course for which we suffer now. But, it never occurred to me to create an arsenal in my upstairs closet to protect myself. Why? Because I know my American History.

Our history as a nation is full of political unrest, upheaval and inertia on the part of Congress. From the very beginning our country has produced men with differing views, presenting good arguments on both sides of issues. There have been hard fought debates, back room dealings and unfriendly persuasion. Still, with all that, we have survived. Our history hasn’t always been as idealic as my photo of St. Al’s and memories of my days on innocence but I would proudly stand it against the history of any other country in the world, confident that our tri-cameral system of government with its checks and balances works in spite of and because of our diversity and contention.

I have hope, both in God and in our country. My outlook is not dark and dismal as some profess. As for me I will continue to build my arsenal with hope and love.

January 3, 2013

Happy 2013!

The Holidays are finally over!

Thanksgiving seems like a lifetime ago. Since then I have baked a mountain of cookies (and consumed too many of them). I’ve e-shopped, wrapped and opened many gifts and did surprising well this year in my choices.

I’ve opened my home to family and friends and been welcomed in other homes for some Christmas cheer.

I’ve decorated my home and helped decorate the church with live greens and glittering ribbons and delighted in the warm glow of candles and my gas fire. (I love flicking that switch and having instant charm and warmth.)

I’ve written our annual Christmas letter and mailed almost a hundred cards. I have received a fewer number but have delighted in them all just the same and hope that those I haven’t heard from are all well.

I’ve been to the movies three times! This is remarkable since it’d probably been more than six months since I last went. But, in the past year we have had a new theater open in town and Dave and I have begun to make dates on Sunday afternoons of a movie and light dinner.

I’ve traveled back in time to the Eighteenth Century, spending the waning days of 2012 in Colonial Williamsburg focusing on the unfairness of the Stamp Act while avoiding the modern day discussions of the looming “fiscal cliff”.

I guess I’ve been sort of busy, too busy it seems to have kept up with my writing. But, I’m gearing up to pack up the holidays on the twelveth day of Christmas and return to ordinary time.

Until then, Happy New Year my friends! May only the best come your way in this New Year!

December 24, 2012

Lighten Up, It’s Christmas

Yesterday I was happy to wake up. Although I’d never admit it publicly, for almost two years there has been a teeny bit of me shivering in a corner wondering if the Mayans were actually correct and the world was going to end on 12.21.12.

I know it was silly. It’s just not logical to put so much faith in an ancient calendar that ended centuries after its civilization died out. I’ve been kidding about it, saying that my calendar runs out every December 31st.; so I simply get a new one for the new year. Or maybe the Mayans just couldn’t find a larger stone. Silly or not, given the number of doomsday prophecies in my own adult life, we humans do seem to be hardwired to look to “the end”. Whether it’s an awareness of human failings that makes many believe the entire world must be made to suffer collectively; to be punished; I don’t know but the reality for most of us is that our world will end singularly and relatively quietly when we draw our last breath.

In my own faith tradition, these past four weeks we have been celebrating Advent, a time of preparation for the coming of Christ. To many that means making ready for a little baby born in a stable. For us, it is a time to remember that we, just like Mary, by virtue of our baptism, have been chosen to bare Christ into the world; not just in the nice easy places, but in the dirty smelly stables as well. Our weekly scripture readings have a dark theme, to prepare ourselves, to stay vigilant, to “keep our lamps trimmed and burning” because we never know when the end will come; could be tomorrow or generations from now. What is a soul to do?

Well, for me, now that I am confident the Mayan calendar held no other purpose to mankind than any of the many calendars I receive yearly from the National Wildlife Conservancy, the ASPCA, the local Chinese restaurant and my church, I will take that little bit of me that’s been shivering in the corner and gather the energy spent on this silliness and put it to good use.

I will stay vigilant and continue to prepare not by stashing away canned goods and fuel, but by sharing what I have with those who have less. I will try my best to carry my lamp with the light of Christ to those who have bits of themselves shivering in corners, leading them out to the warmth. It is a time to “lighten up”, to bring joy and light and most of all hope to this darkest time of year.

I was reminded of this when I came down to the kitchen this morning. Andy had some friends over last night and my counter was cluttered with the remnants of entertaining. I signed because I am so very weary of cleaning the kitchen and emptying the dishwasher after weeks of cookie baking and my own entertaining. Then, I read my new cookie plate and let it all go.

December 3, 2012

I Can’t Believe I Raked the Whole Yard!

Saturday morning while Dave was off practicing with the Greene County Singers, I decided to help him with his yard duties and rake the leaves in the back yard. Shortened daylight hours and busy weekends have put him a little behind the curve in lawn care. I, on the other hand, had a few hours to spare and welcomed a change from my household chores and longed to get out into the fresh air. Raking seemed like a good idea – until I started raking.

The work didn’t seem as easy as it did when I was a kid. The rake seemed heavier at first and my arms felt weaker. I began to let negative thoughts enter my head. Maybe I wouldn’t be able to complete the task. Maybe all my hours in the gym hadn’t gotten me to the point where I could do it. Maybe I was to old. I was beginning to become discouraged.

Then I remembered some important lessons I’ve learned at the gym. First I cleared all the negative thoughts from my mind: allowing myself to mentally break the task into bits. Then I began to focus on my technique; finding the most comfortable and effective way to gather the leaves. Sometimes I used quick short sweeps, sometimes longer and slower. Before I knew it, half the yard was green again!

As I surveyed what I had accomplished, I saw Izzie rolling in a sunny spot in the grass, beckoning me to join her. I thought, why not? Lorenzo gives me rest periods throughout me workouts. So, I laid down the rake and plopped myself on the cool lawn beside Izzie to rub her belly and scratch her chin. It was a perfect moment; quiet and peaceful, the distractions of the holidays were gone. Refreshed, I picked up my rake and tackled the next chunk of lawn.

My mind began to wonder freely as I worked. I thought about Maggie and Jan’s engagement and how happy I am for them. I thought about Andy and offered a little prayer that he be offered the post doc position he just interviewed for. I thought about so many things. Then I realized what a gift it was to be able to let my mind go like that. No phones. No TV. No other voices. Just me in my yard, methodically working and thinking.

Eventually, I realized I had finished. The leaves were now gathered in a handful of large piles throughout the yard, ready to be hauled into the woods. There was now a clear distinction between the lawn and the wooded section of the yard. I had a glimpse of how God felt after he created the world and it was good. Instead of feeling drained and ready to plop in a chair, I felt energized. So, I picked up my rake and began to rake the front yard!

It occurred to me that my time with rake in hand was a reminder of how all jobs in life should be approached; with a positive attitude, good technique, determination as well as respites. A job well done should be one that gives you the energy to carry on. If it doesn’t, and your attitude, technique and dedication are all in rightness, then it is the job that is not right.

Rake on!