Christmas Eve Memories

Christmas Eve was the high point in my youth. My large family exchanged presents from siblings on the night before Christmas. We would have a casual but special meal and all the cookies would come out of hiding. We walked in the dark to our parish church for midnight mass. There would be flowers, incense, and angels singing Latin from the choir. Christmas Eve was a celebration of the senses. 

My paternal grandmother came to our house early in the evening with her profound love, mystical kindness, homemade divinity candy, and peanut butter fudge (for crying out loud!). It was exciting to have her in our house. I can still hear her sweet, Tennessee drawl. I continue to feel her steadfast love. I'm not sure a better person ever walked this earth.

Grandpa wouldn't always come with her. Sadly, as he got older he became a cranky old misery guts. Oh well. Somebody's gotta play Scrooge.

She had just walked in.  I didn't even let her take off her coat before I took her picture.

Is all this crap the Wheel of Life?

I get tired of problems, 
politics, 
and people. 
I really do. 
I plod on 
hoping for the best. 
Always hoping 
love will be enough. 

Do you think it is?  The world has gone crazy.

These are my jagged thoughts 
with the sharp points protruding.

When I can remember to open my eyes to see, I see beauty

Love hurts

My daughter, M, texted me that little N cried and screamed for her at the kindergarten school's door this morning. Teachers had to hold him back so he wouldn't grab on to her. She is heartsick, and so am I. 

My sincere hope is that he bounced back quickly once she left. It happens. My rational mind knows all is fine, but my heart aches for this little 6 year old boy who wants to stay home and play. I can't help it.

Love really does hurt sometimes, especially when it comes to loving children.

Guilt Trippers and Fixers

In my not-so-humble, completely non-medical opinion there is no virtue to suffering in silence. Repressing your emotional pain is convenient for some people around you (the ones who do not want to notice you are in pain), but it is bad for your mental and physical health. Words have power. Speaking the truth "might" set you free."

There are obvious caveats to consider. I trust you to know what they are. Still, emotional pain will not go away by ignoring it. It wants to be felt, processed, and released. Unacknowledged emotional pain festers and screams like an angry crowd; it demands to be heard. If you want pain to dissipate then you will have to chew it up and spit it out, not suck it up. Geez-o-Pete, do you want to end up with the psychological equivalent of a sinus infection? Emotional pain is powerful stuff. Left unattended it will find insidious ways to get your attention despite all your good intentions for "soldiering on." 

If you are lucky, you might have a friend who is a good listener. Sadly, I am not talking about a "fixer" friend. Fixers are good hearted people who care about you and want very much to help. However, they have their own pain to contend with. Their pain makes it hard for them to just listen to you speak the unspeakable, even though they really, really want to. I know because I am a fixer... I am freakin' useless sometimes, jumping in ready to fight other people's fights, warding off evil, controlling the hell out of every thing, frantically filled with "good ideas" and best intentions. Sometimes I exhaust myself (and others). Maybe most of the time.

When I am in pain but I don't have a friend who is a good listener, I pay someone to listen to me. Why not? In fact, seeing a gifted therapist is often the best way for me. However, if I cannot afford (or find) a gifted therapist, then I keep a private journal. I write whatever comes to mind. I like to imagine converting emotional pain into words is a magical release spell. Humor me if you can. I'm trying to fix things here. Relaxare!

I try not to pay attention to guilt trippers. You know, the people who infer that your pain is self-indulgent and unimportant in the grand scheme of things. If I feel it, it is real. I cannot help fight the world's pain if I haven't first resolved my own. Guilt trippers want to shut us up and shut us down. That doesn't seem helpful or kind, does it? To be honest (and compassionate) guilt trippers probably do this because they have their own unresolved pain. I get it. I know they mean well. Still, they can get in the way of personal growth just as effectively as us fixers.

I want to be helpful, kind, and compassionate. I also want to be thankful, grateful, and look on that damn bright side. Truly. But I also want to be honest, courageous, and strong. Sometimes that involves facing your own pain first. THEN you can safely help the passenger in the seat next to you put on their oxygen mask.

I might have stolen that last sentence from some other blogger's recent blog. It sounds disturbingly familiar. If I have stolen your thought and you read this, please comment so you can take credit for it. I will apologize. It will assuage my guilt.

Sometimes I think Jiminy Cricket was just a nagging, chirping grasshopper

Maiden, Mother, and Crone

I recently read a review for The Lightning Tree, a book by Emily Woof. The last sentence of the review said "...she succeeds in conveying the 'infinity of moments' that make up a lifetime."

Well, THAT scared the ever lovin' crap outta of me! I know it was meant to do otherwise. I realize the reviewer was reaching towards his/her best truth. In fact, it was a good sentence. However, I wonder if the concept of "a lifetime" is flexible, depending on your age?

I am going to tell you my theory on all this and (be forewarned) I will generalize like crazy. None of it will be new or insightful. Like on Battlestar Galactica, this has all happened before and it will happen again. Here goes.

When you are young a lifetime seems mostly ahead of you. The idea of building a life is formidable, but also exciting. I like to think time is meant to be filled with joy and wonder. The young still seem to know that. Youth is about hope, anticipation, and energy. You learn about yourself and so much more. If the young tend to romanticize the future, it is their right. Youth is a dangerous, wonderful, adventurous stage.

Middle age is when you might consider your accomplishments and bask in your strength, or vice versa. You've probably had your ass kicked a time or two. In middle age people are a bit more savvy. A lifetime is no longer an idea, it has become a concrete reality. Middle age is when you finally figure out the mechanics, the process of living a life. At this point a person is usually sustained by responsibilities, duties, and love. Middle aged people are busy, busy, busy. It can be a stable, fulfilling time in a life. 

Older people know they are living on borrowed time. They realize there is an end to all this. If you are lucky enough to retire you eventually find yourself freed from routine distractions. Old age can be messy, fraught with physical limitations, health issues, money worries, and unresolved fears. Oh yeah, and sometimes you leak. However, your time is your own.

I am not really "old" yet, but I am no longer middle aged by any stretch of the imagination. As I age, I begin to think old age has more in common with youth than with middle age because time has that lovely transcendent quality I was too busy to notice in middle age. Now I have time, once again, to experience the moment with eyes wide open. Old age is a glorious and terrifying time of life. It depends on the person to balance that conflict. It is a struggle, I'll tell you that.

So when I read a sentence like "...she succeeds in conveying 'the infinity of moments' that make up a lifetime" I am not thinking, "Oh isn't that a beautiful thought?" Nor am I thinking "Hmmm, I'll have to remember that one when I have a few moments to reflect."  I am thinking "Holy Shit! A lifetime has a lot of moments to live through, but they are definitely not infinite."  

Yep, winter is coming.

Digging Deep: The Blame Game Part II

Today I do not want to read any mean spirited, self-serving, blame the victim, I told you so, I'm better than (you, your country, your religion, your sexuality, your political candidate, your parenting skills) blog or Facebook posts.

Tragedies happen every day. Sometimes they happen because a person runs smack into evil through no fault of their own, sometimes bad things happen simply because a person is in the wrong place at the wrong time, other times tragedy hits because someone made a mistake.

I am no better than anyone else, especially when it comes to making mistakes. I look back at my life and I wish I could go back and be kinder, better, somehow atone for things I did that caused pain to others. Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure I am not perfect and will likely make more mistakes before I die. This makes me more than a little nervous because there seems to be a long line of blamers out there just waiting to kick people when they are down. 

Why is it so important to cast blame when the victims are still reeling from the blow? I wonder if we will ever evolve to the point that our first reaction to tragedy is compassion, and our first action is kindness, regardless of the cause? 

Sometimes you just don't see it coming

Going Back

We made a whirlwind trip to Upstate NY in mid-May. It was the first time we went back since moving to Florida in March 2014. We arrived late Friday and left after lunch on Monday. Absurdly short visit, I know; but T is not a good traveler. I apologize from the heart to those dear friends I was unable to see this time. The guilt and regret I feel is palpable. But this trip had a specific purpose.

Our friend, ShS, died in January and we were unable to go back for her funeral. We specifically planned this May weekend with the old gang to honor her and help her husband process the loss.

Saying goodbye to her was one of the last things we did before leaving NYS over two years ago. She was not sick yet. Still, when I hugged her goodbye at her doorway that cold March day I was overcome with sorrow and didn't want to let go of her. I fought tears as we drove away. It would be an understatement to say I don't usually cry. I am usually steely calm with goodbyes, so Tom asked if I was okay. I told him I had a strong feeling I was never going to see ShS again. It was one of those moments when the future reaches back with fully extended claws to rend your heart with foresight. Spooky.

On a lighter note, while there we went to our favorite Vietnamese restaurant. When I walked in, the waiter immediately remembered me! He also remembered my standard lunch order after all these years. Whatta guy!

His kindness reminded me how we impact everyone we meet. A kind and gracious waiter can make a customer's day. We might remember him/her for the rest of our lives. Relationships take many forms. Make no mistake, we all play a role crafting goodness and light in this world.

Yes, we went to Wegmans. I had a hilarious "moment" with an elderly stranger who was sitting down in the dining area eating an entire Mini Ultimate Chocolate Cake all by her sweet self. As I walked by, I saw the cake and exclaimed "Look, it's one of those cakes!" She heard me and said, "I am just trying to make sure I stay fat." Ha! I'll probably never forget her, either.

Just so you know, we brought a small, empty carry-on suitcase on the plane. Before leaving NYS we filled it up with 3 dozen bagels for our return. The security bag scanner at the airport got a big kick out of it. Six of the bagels were garlic. Now the suitcase will forever smell of garlic. I don't care.

Bagels, ripe for the picking

Heaven on Earth: the produce section at Wegmans

FYI - We are going to be preoccupied with a family wedding this weekend, so I probably won't be checking my or other people's blogs for a few days.  If you send comments I will publish them and respond Monday or Tuesday.  Have a good weekend!

It's Raining!

After a long, long drought it finally rained yesterday. We were gone this past weekend. We were exhausted when we returned, so we were thrilled not to have to go out in the steaming heat and water our flowers and vegetables. They are well nourished now. After a busy weekend of visiting with old friends, I am well nourished, too. 

When it rains in Florida it REALLY rains. T had to go out about 9:00 p.m. and drain some of the water out of the pool because we were afraid it was going to overflow. This morning it is overcast and the ground is soggy. I imagine it might rain all day.

Through the glass, darkly

An old comrade-at-arms is retiring on Tax Day (April 15) and I have been busy this week putting together a photo album to honor his many years as a manager at the university. We served together on scads of college committees, tried to organize the other university academic unit managers into a cohesive group at least twice, challenged authority as if we were Jedi Knights, and generally tried to make things better. It was fun going through old pictures and thinking about those days. 

I was always a fiend for pictures. I feverishly documented every job-related person, place, and thing. I was the one taking photos instead of socializing at parties. I organized my photos in a variety of ways. I know everyone's names dating back a million years not because I have a good memory, but because I wrote it on the back of a photo, or named the e-photo with the person's name. I am also the go-to person when someone dies or retires and a photo board needs to be created. And yes, everything is dated. A fiend, I tell you...

I suppose I spent all that time taking pictures to distract myself. Back then I was all about doing and not a bit about feeling. Staging and taking pictures was the perfect means to avoid my internal life. With camera in hand you experience the moment externally, through a lens. I was capturing the moment and saving it for later, when I would have the time and energy to feel deeply.

Looking at all the old pictures of co-workers, campus buildings, off-campus eating establishments, parking lots, and walkways this past week was also bittersweet. Although it was fun, it has been a little painful. I am surprised.

I wonder, why? Why would I be surprised?