RAINBOWS AND UNICORNS: A SENTIMENTAL JOURNEY

Today is Easter.  We had a family brunch late morning/early afternoon.  Now the family has left and the house is quiet.  I'm thinking back on the past month, which has been a challenge both in good ways and in ways not so great.  I feel off-kilter, in transition, leaving some things behind and not quite knowing what is ahead.  Not a state that I relish being in.  But here I am so, present moment thoughts: 

Today, it's a beautiful sunny spring day with daffodils, camelias, and rhodies blooming in my yard; azalea buds offer a peek at the colors they will announce with brilliant fanfare in another week or so.  Cherry blossoms, magnolias, and bright green new leaf buds stand out brilliantly against azure blue skies.  I am always amazed when the life cycle begins anew.  It is a phenomenon I know to expect, but still somehow takes me by surprise.

We missed one daughter-in-law today as she made her way home from a weekend away with friends.  But the rest were here around the table, joining hands to start our meal and each taking a turn saying what we are thankful for.  This family moment of "grace" is a special time whenever we gather.  There is always, from each, the gratitude for us being together, for family, for each other.  Then there might be a special occasion to be grateful for, or a life event, or an appreciation of a sunny day, like today.  Our youngest granddaughter, when she was very little, used to listen to all of us and at her turn she'd say, "I'm thankful for rainbows and unicorns."  We thought it was so sweet and cute.  Now at nine, she participates fully and maturely, but her ending is always, "...AND I'm thankful for rainbows and unicorns", as she pokes good-natured fun at her younger self.  Still so sweet.

She and her big sister, 14, grabbed empty Easter baskets after brunch and headed to the gardens to search for candy-filled eggs.  We all cheered them on, giving them clues, watching as they collected their stash.  We took family photos, inspected the new garden growth, talked about what to plant in the raised beds this year, and made plans for summer family gatherings.

Back inside, full of good food, a few candies begged from the girls, feeling content and happy together, we grew quieter.  

I looked around and thought about my own childhood Easters.  I always had a fancy new dress that was a little stiff and scratchy.  I had patent leather shoes and sometimes a little hat.  I went to Sunday School at the local Methodist church, then sat with my family for the church service, hearing about the Resurrection of Jesus and that he died and came back to life for my sins.  I wasn't sure what all that meant, but I felt sorry for Jesus on that cross and that it had somehow been my fault. I was glad that he'd been brought back from the dead, but I had never seen him.  I much preferred thinking about the Easter basket waiting for me at home, delivered just that morning by the Easter bunny, who I had also never seen, but who left me candy and gifts nonetheless.  Childhood can be a confusing time. 

We are a more secular family.  We celebrate the new life of a new season; we celebrate our love and connection to each other; we wear jeans and sneakers on Easter Sunday.  We look for the good in others, feel the love in our hearts, and try to do good for the world, and in that way, I guess, we are honoring Jesus' teachings even if we don't put on scratchy clothes and take to our church pews.

Like the seasons, life is full of change; nothing remains constant.  There are times of connection and times of longing for connection. But if we are intentional, compassionate, understanding, and loving; if we prioritize those we care about more often than not, share our bounty, share our lives, share our joys and sorrows, and be there for the really big stuff in each other's lives, what is lasting is a place where we are safe and cared for -- all of us -- and in this way we find in each moment an infinity of gratitude. 

On this Easter Sunday I'm incredibly thankful for my life, for the blessings and luck and hard work and privilege to create these connections to family and friends and the lifeforce around me.  

AND I'm thankful for rainbows and unicorns. 🌈🦄

At least that's the view from here...©

RANDOM THOUGHTS ON RANDOM SUBJECTS

The Muse showed up in September, then abandoned me in October.  In fact all of October flew by in such a rush I barely remember it.  But this being the last day, I decided to sit down and force something onto the page so that I can say I've never missed at least posting once a month since I started this blog.  So here we are with a few things on my mind.

HALLOWEEN:  When my boys were young this was my favorite holiday.  I went all out!  What's not to like?  It's basically a one day holiday; doesn't involve making a meal or having an obligatory gathering of family and/or friends; the decorations are fun and creative; you get to dress up as your alter-ego; AND you get to eat boatloads of candy that people just hand out for free!  

But this year I'm sort of taking a pass.  I usually decorate for Autumn in September, haul out the Halloween decor in October, put that away and get some turkey stuff out for November, then put it all away to start throwing red and green around the house in December.  This year I got out minimal Autumn decor and zero Halloween stuff.  I was going to go dark tonight, but I've now decided to hand out granola bars to the few kids who will come to my door.  Every year it's fewer and fewer and I don't know any of them.  Our neighborhood attracts families from other areas, so cars drive up, drop off their trick or treaters who plunder the 'hood and take off again.  I don't mind, but I don't know any of the kids, which makes it a little less fun.  So, we will see how it goes.  I'm mostly happy for my grandkids who are looking forward to their own Halloween fun in their neighborhood.

TRAVEL:  Do you watch PBS, especially anything Masterpiece?  Then you've seen the Viking River Cruise commercials.  We signed up for one leaving next spring -- the Grand European Tour from Amsterdam to Budapest.  Friends have raved about it.  Viking caters to the traveler's every whim, you feel pampered, see lots of cool stuff, and make friends for life.  Uh-huh.  Well, we spent one entire day on their website and on the telephone making our flight and excursion arrangements with Viking and let me just say, it was not seamless nor particularly easy.   However,  the Viking travel coordinator couldn't have been more accommodating.  It was just complicated. Maybe I'll do a whole post on that one day.  For now I am putting it out of my mind.

We took a less high stakes trip to San Diego last week.  A 5-day getaway as our rainy season here in the Pacific Northwest gets underway.  It was 72 and and sunny in SD, as advertised.  As always.  I don't think I'd get bored with that.  We did touristy things -- walked and walked as we always do and saw the main downtown/waterfront sights.  We did a trolly trip out to Coronado Island and walked on the beach.  We visited a Dia De Los Muertos celebration Old Town.  And saw more unfortunate un-homed people living on the street than my heart could tolerate.  

I will confess to a mixture of feelings -- great sympathy and curiosity about how so many lives became so desperate and sad.  Also, a feeling of guilt at my revulsion over the filth and smell of unwashed bodies and urine soaked sidewalks.  Also, frustration and helplessness over the intractable nature of addressing and solving this problem through policy, politics, and do-gooderism.  No matter which direction we headed from our hotel, we walked past individuals curled up in doorways and small tent cities under viaducts.  I mostly felt safe enough, but with the 'streetwise' caution of not really knowing if/when someone on drugs or with mental health issues might do something unexpected and threatening.  This is the reality of cities large and small to one degree or another.  It's sad.

FRIENDS:  Yesterday, just a week shy of our 6th anniversary, I and a group of my friends (who call ourselves the Coffeehouse Crew) had a rare in-person meet-up at a local restaurant.  Ten of of gathered around a big table and delighted in seeing whole live bodies after years now of meeting primarily on Zoom.  Before Covid we met monthly at a different coffeeshop each time.  Then Covid hit and many were feeling isolated, so we decided to meet weekly on Zoom.  We've continued to do this since we are also geographically spread out and some of us like to be in our jammies all day.  LOL  But we've decided that meeting in person occasionally would be great too so we will do that every so often, along with our Zoom gatherings.

I realized how much I've missed seeing those women in person.  I realize how infrequently I see anyone in person.  My introverted nature was delighted with the Covid lockdown.  No more forced socializing!  I kept up all my connections through FB, this blog, emails, cards, texts, Messenger....but my in-person interactions took a nosedive and has remained so even now.  I go out.  I do things.  I meet  friends for coffee or lunch now and again, but Hub and I rarely go to someone's home or have people over other than family.  It's so different from how it was in the "before times".  I'm realizing I've settled into a new way of being and I am discerning what that means and how that feels to me.  What I notice is that I'm good for about 90 minutes of social interaction, then I'm sort of exhausted.   I will have to work back up to full speed!  

GRATITUDE:  It's been a year since my right hip started to bug me.  I went to Physical Therapy early this year and that helped.  Then I signed up with a personal trainer in the spring and that helped too.  But this fall it has gotten worse, to the point where some days I can barely limp across the room.  (And other days, like on vacation last week, I walked 5-6 miles a day!)  So I'm going back to PT.  This has been such a humbling experience.  I've prided myself on my fitness and lack of chronic conditions that limit me.  I have greater empathy for how something can develop that can slow or stop you in your tracks and the cascading effects of that, both physically and emotionally.  I've gained weight since I've not been able to exercise and walk as much.  I've been in tears of frustration over feeling limitations in movement -- even simply going up a flight of stairs.  I'm less confident in my ability to do certain activities.  It sucks.  

AND I do not have anything life-threatening.  I do not have arthritis or joint deterioration.  This is all due to my scoliosis and a lifetime of compensation for spine curvature which has caused my muscles and supporting tendons, etc to tighten up and "hold on".  I need to do a lot of work to loosen and soothe, build strength, and hopefully find a way to live with this without pain or limitation.  And I have a great team of professionals who know how to help me -- doctor, physical therapist, trainer, yoga therapist.  So I'm humbled but grateful.  And grateful for having developed a desire to persevere.  I might feel like giving up in many areas of my life, but I don't.  Eventually I just find a way, a path, a guide, and I keep on.  Don't we all?

At least, that's the view from here...©

A REFLECTION ON GRATITUDE

 

It's Thanksgiving morning.  Not yet dawn.  Up early to start to assemble my contributions to today's family meal.   But instead I ambled around the house taking photos of my Fall decor, of my many  reminders (taped to cabinet doors in the kitchen and on the side of a file cabinet in my office) to live a life of caring and integrity and strength.  I pass by these dozens of times a day, stopping to read them at least twice, sometimes three or four or more times to keep their messages alive to me.   I change them as I need/want/feel moved.  

And now I'm here at the dining room table, cluttered with receipts, chargers, yoga class prep notes, a birthday card to sign...with my coffee and my laptop, scrolling through email and social media, watching YouTube to see that Taylor Swift performance from SNL that everyone is talking about.  I'm ignoring the clutter to be busted before the family arrives later this morning, the stuffing to be made, the Brussel sprouts and yams to be cleaned and prepped for cooking.  I glance at my to-do list and decide to write here instead...

Thanksgiving.  A day for gratitude.  There have been years when it was hard to find gratitude.  On any given year I have also experienced exhaustion, overwhelm, grief, anger, resentment, dashed expectations, distractions, worries, fears, illness.  It's just a day, after all.  Nothing special.  

President Washington declared a day of public Thanksgiving, but it was unevenly celebrated in the new States.  In 1863 President Lincoln signed a proclamation that there be an annual Thanksgiving holiday on the last Thursday of November.  But in 1939 the last Thursday fell on the last day of the month and FDR thought this would cut into the holiday shopping with a negative effect on the economy, so he changed it to the second to last Thursday in November. But only 32 states went along with it, 16 retaining the last Thursday as the day to celebrate.  In 1941, to bring everyone together on a fixed date, Congress passed and FDR signed what was to become the date we all now celebrate -- the 4th Thursday of November.

Lesson:  Nothing is fixed, everything changes, what we take as "always has been this way" is wrong and it's just a day.  It could be any day.  Or every day.  And just because Hallmark and Normal Rockwell and turkey growers and grocery stores push us to create a perfect day of family, friends, and thankfulness  on this 4th Thursday of November for many folks that isn't an automatic state of mind and heart.  Life happens.

As for me...this year I sit in the still dark, hearing the rain hit the roof and run down the window obscuring my view of a neighborhood just waking up.  A few lights  in homes are coming on, a man is hunkered down against the deluge walking his dog, a lone car moves slowly up the street.  

And I feel grateful.  With no qualifiers.  I'm choosing where to put my attention, like that Pollyanna girl I have so despised for most of my life -- she with the sunny disposition and cheery optimism.  I thought her vacant and stupid.  

And yet, there is something to be said about the choice we have in how we view the world.  I am a clear-eyed realist.  I'm all too aware of the hurt, fear, anger, dread, and nastiness of the world and some of the people in it.  I could, and often do, dwell in my fears for our future, my rage at those who are cruel, my impotence to do anything about most of it, it seems.

And yet, I am grateful for my life; the family I came from, the friends I've had, those who sustain and support and love me still; for my comfortable home; the breathtaking beauty of the place I live; the places I've been; the experiences I've had; the work I've done.  I am privileged and blessed and I hope I am using that to help others in some way.  

I am grateful for my health, which as I age seems to become more precarious, with an increasing awareness that anything could befall me at any time to change what I now take for granted.  But I still have the ability to act on what I can control to try to stave off some disaster of physical or mental decline that will shove me to the margins and bring pain and fear to my days.  I am committed to my health.

I am grateful for my introspection, a never-ending journey toward greater knowledge of myself and what makes me "tick" as life throws challenges in my path, and in turn how I can be in closer connection to others who are different from me and others who might benefit from what I've learned.

I am grateful for my family, the one at one point in my life I never thought I'd have.  I have two sons who came to us through adoption as infants, their birthmothers having chosen us from a number of families who they could have chosen instead, but some "something" brought us together -- they with their fearless courage to make an adoption choice for their babies, us with our boundless love and desire to be parents.  My sons grew into beautiful men, who chose amazing women to love and marry, and one of them (so far!) has given me two grandchildren who are my reason for everything.

I am grateful for Hub.  Next year we will be 50 years married; 54 in relationship -- and all that entails.  The times of joy and challenge, commitment and break-up, reconnection and struggle.  Starting out as teenagers we've beaten the odds of still being together.  We joke we've lived several lifetimes together and that we literally grew up each in the shadow of the other.  We've gone through so much heartache, so much exhilaration.  And through it all, for reasons clear and obscure, we've endured.  It might be beyond us to know why.  But I am grateful.  We are at a moment in our time together that we both feel is better than ever, after a time not too long ago that threatened the whole enterprise. I'm grateful for the tools we've gathered, the work we've done, the commitment we've made to keep on, to keep talking, to keep opening, to keep everything we've experienced in the past and hope for in our future as the thing that holds us in love and partnership no matter what comes next.  

So, Thanksgiving.  A day, just a day.  But maybe it's OK to have one day set aside to slow down and take stock.  To find a quiet pocket of time to clear the skies of doom and gloom, of sadness and fear, of pain and overwhelm and just be with what "is" -- this moment, in this time, in this place -- and find even one small thing to be grateful for.  

At least, that's the view from here...©

ALOHA 2021

 

Aloha Greetings from Kauai!

Here we are into nearly our second full week on the island, with another week to go, and I'm still not totally acclimated to the "new normal".  

Last year, during the Covid Times, we didn't come of course.  We cancelled our trip and stayed locked in our house all spring, not having any idea that a whole year would pass before things started to feel even a little bit normal again.  Actually I'm convinced more and more that "normal" will be redefined for some time to come.  At any rate, Hawaii started letting visitors come back to the state but when we booked our stay in January it was with a wish rather than a guarantee.  We expected to have to cancel again.  Then came the vaccines (Hallelujia!) and Hawaii put a program in place to begin to welcome visitors if they passed a battery of physical and cognitive tests of will and patience to get the Golden Ticket in.

We had to register with Safe Hawaii online.  Then we had to schedule a particular type of Covid test (even if vaccinated) from a Hawaii-approved partner laboratory to ensure we got the results within 72 hours of flying.  (We passed dozens of not approved test sites before we got to an approved one 20 miles from our home). We had to register with the lab, then await them posting our test result (negative).  We had to pay them $175 per test, so before we got the test, we called our insurance to ensure we'd be reimbursed.  They said yes.  Then we had to fill out insurance forms and submit our request with a copy of the receipt.  We had to upload the negative result of the test to Safe Hawaii before leaving the ground in Seattle.  If the upload didn't work (ours didn't for some unknown reason; I followed the instructions to the letter!) we had to have a PDF print out of the result in hand to show at the airport.  Once we passed that hurdle we had to download a QR code on our phones at the Safe Hawaii website proving our negative Covid test status to show once we landed in Kauai and also at the car rental place, the resort, and any other place that might require seeing our test result to let us in.  Then we went to the beach. LOL

Speaking of car rentals...we had ours reserved since January and a good thing.  We have heard there are zero cars available to rent!  Last year, rental companies purged their inventory all across the US and people have taken to renting U-Hauls in some places to have something to drive! See?  Not normal.

Once here masks are required throughout Hawaii when indoors.  So we still mask up inside public spaces.  Once outside we take them off.  On, off, on, off.  Part of this, our home-away-from-home resort for 20+ years, has been sold to another company (no longer Marriott, now Royal Sonesta) but we still are Marriott time share owners, so our accommodations have not changed, but the "vibe" is different and I feel we've been shunted off to the side, but maybe that's just me resenting that we are no longer the valued guests we once were.  Hello, Ego. LOL

Also, the retail shops on the lower levels along the gardens are all gone.  My fave dress shop, Tropical Tantrum, is now the new Welcome Desk office for timeshare guests (having been evicted from the beautiful lobby now occupied by Royal Sonesta).  The jewelry store I never went in is an empty room behind dirty windows; the art gallery, car rental office, photography gallery -- all closed and empty.  There are no local craftspeople set up on the Terrace each morning.  No breakfast buffet on the Terrace either.  The two (over-priced) on-site restaurants are open only limited hours.   We don't mind so much because we grill every night but now there are only two grills for the entire resort (the third closed for social distancing) so the wait can be long.  We've learned to grill our fresh fish at 5:00 (a bit early for us) or 7:30 (in the dark), avoiding the prime dinner hour rush of long lines and people cooking huge hunks of red meat.  Ugh!

On the plus side -- no cruise ships are docking so our beach is not inundated with "boat people" or rowdy crew members several days a week.  It's a bit quieter -- no late night music from the bar down the beach or after-dark beach revelers.  The sun shines, the breezes blow, the waves crash, the night sky is awash with stars, the ocean water is warm, the pool is beautiful, our "spot" on the beach has been waiting for us every day. Hub has gotten better at riding the waves on his stand-up paddle board; I've read 4 books; hiking trails are not too crowded; our morning 4-5 mile walks are lovely and I've lost a bit more weight -- now at my lowest in decades.  (I'll write about this weight loss journey another time).   We are relaxed and content...it's truly a time of respite from responsibilities and obligations that come with the territory at home.  And a welcome celebration of traveling to another of our special places post-vaccine.

I notice that my gratitude for my life has grown deeper and more poignant since the Covid Times.  I am getting amazing clarity on what is truly important to me and my mindfulness of present moment is sharpened.  I have changed in some profound ways over the past couple of years of personal and societal challenge.  There is no room for taking anything for granted.  It's all a gift and appreciating every moment for the lessons we can learn, for the joy we can feel, for the love we can give and receive, for the effort we can make to create and preserve what is important to us is really all there is.  

I know, I know.  Easy for me to say from my perch on the lanai looking out at the beach and bay that is my view for three weeks.  Yet, we all have a view of some kind, something or someone we love, something we long for, something of beauty we appreciate now, something that provides meaning to our lives.

May we all find a "new normal" that sharpens the senses, deepens gratitude, and helps us grow in equanimity and peace.  

At least, that's the view from here...©

A LONG, STRANGE TRIP

I'm writing this on Monday from sunny Kauai.  We fly home Friday after 17 days here.  This weather map is from home.  Naturally.

This has been a strange April trip for our annual Kauai vacation.  We arrived on April 10 to clouds and "chilly" winds which continued for the first week we were here.  Torrential, record-breaking rain hit parts of the island (thankfully not so much where we are); mostly up on the North Shore around Hanalei.  Nearly 30 inches of rain in 24 hours.  Massive flooding and landslides; it was declared an official Disaster Area, with evacuations and National Guard and Red Cross presence.  Roads are still closed up there and predicted to be for another two weeks.  I love Hanalei and feel so sad and sorry for the people there.

The worst we endured was me driving us in a torrent on our way home from a visit to Kauai Coffee and Kauai Brewing southwest of where we are staying.  Traffic was backed up for miles as rivers of mud and rain flowed down hillsides and along the roadsides; a downed tree blocked one lane.

Given the inclement weather, we didn't feel like going anywhere so for several days we just hunkered down here in our long sleeves and hung out at the beach a bit and in the room a lot. Hub worked on the Men's Retreat program he's leading for our old church and I read.  And read.  And read.

Hub was also stymied from taking his new Stand Up Paddle Board out after giving it a go for the first few cloudy days.  Once the torrent hit, there was a Brown Water Alert to stay out of standing water, rivers, ponds, and ocean areas fed by rivers or streams -- as our Kalapaki Bay is.  You could see the brown water throughout the bay -- a toxic slew of runoff from pastures, overflowing cesspools and septics, toxic goo from wherever toxic goo accumulates.  YUK!  It's the first time in 20 years we haven't seen anyone, tourists or locals, in the water here.

Also, as I noted in my previous post, the pool here has been freezing (for me and others) cold.  Broken heater and no sun for solar warming.  It's improving by now, so hoping for a few days of pool time before we head home on Friday.

Hub goes for his morning walks, I come here to the Terrace or sit on our room balcony to scroll FB and write, and often go on a walk around the grounds here through the gardens and along the beach.  Then we have papaya, mango, apple bananas for breakfast and head for our beach chairs.  Hub takes the paddle board out several times throughout the day.  I read.  And read.  And read.

Here's the thing.  I'm both a bit tired of my familiar surroundings this trip, and also completely content to just stay here instead of going to other places on the island, that are also very familiar, just to be going somewhere.  It is absolutely lovely here and I have everything I need and want.  So, I'm not sure where this antsy, restless, inertia is coming from.  I'm wondering if we need to choose a different vacation next year, and then I feel sad to think we might not come back.  Ambivalence reigns within me.

But the good news is that the sun has returned!  The past two days have been spectacular and I'm back to chasing shade all day and slathering on more and more sunscreen to keep my dermatologist happy.  The breezes are gentle and refreshing and the rain comes only during the nights -- as it should.

Just the same, I'm starting to think about home and eager to get my garden planted, check on my spring blooming azaleas and rhodies, see the new views after the across the street neighbors had some trees taken down....so I checked the weather report from home and found the temps will plummet 20 degrees just as we arrive and rain will return to what has already been a very soggy spring.  I'll wish I was back here.

I'd better get crackin' on my gratitude practice.  I'm too busy wanting something other than what I have -- a sure sign of something agitating for change within me.  I wonder what's coming?

At least, that's the view from here...©

REMEMBRANCE

My mom died nine years ago this morning.

It was a day just like this bright and sunny July 10th.  I had been sitting vigil at the hospital for 12 hours each day since July 5 when she had a massive stroke; I had spent the night that first night, not thinking she would live until morning.  She did, although she never regained consciousness in the next 5 days.

Still, I was there, talking to her, stroking her arms, brushing her hair, holding her hand, laying my head on the pillow next to hers.  I brought in family photos for the windowsill and placed the flowers on her bedside table.  Hub was with me most of the time.  Our oldest son came home from his college town to see her; our younger son, home on summer break, held down the fort at the house, stopping in periodically at the hospital.  I called the rest of the far-flung family and held the phone to her ear as they talked to her; I didn't hear their words but I assume they expressed their love and appreciation for her.  Was she aware of any of that?  I don't know...

On the morning she died, I got off the elevator with my Starbucks mocha and had a big smile on my face as I prepared to greet the nurse coming toward me. I had gotten to know the nursing staff, the custodial staff, the Hospice workers.  All were gentle, caring, respectful, friendly, compassionate people.  This morning, though, the nurse came came to me with a look that could only mean one thing...she enveloped me in her arms and said, "She passed about a half hour ago."  I was not shocked, but I burst into tears.  I was sad and relieved.  Her 5 years of a subtle, then precipitous decline into dementia and physical weakness were over.  She did not want to "linger" and she really didn't.  Her stroke came on suddenly and then she was gone.

The Hospice harpist happened to be on the floor...she had learned of my mom's death just before I arrived.  She waited there for me and we entered mom's room together.  She played while I sat at my mom's bedside, weeping.  Truly she was an Angel in that moment.  I will never forget the sense of awe and peace her music elicited as I spent the final moments I'd ever have in my mother's presence.

I'm not sure why I needed to recount all that here, for others to see and read.  But as with any other post in this blog, my hope is that by sharing my life, I'm touching that of another.  There is reassurance in knowing that the human experience is shared.  We are not alone.

I miss my mom every single day.  Sometimes I feel her close by...like right next to me!  But other times, like today, she is only a memory.  I am honoring her in my heart today, with recollections of her love, her hugs, the firm grip of her hand on mine that last time I sat with her before her stroke, her smile, her laugh, her holding my babies, her amazing talents in undertaking almost any job, from hammers to hair cuts, from baking to painting (walls and landscape canvases!), her pride for her family, her stoic determination, her introverted need for quiet, for her tidy and organized home and the flowers in her garden.

After the arrangements were made for her cremation, there was little else to do until planning for her memorial service began.  We'd decided to hold it a month later, in Illinois, her home before she'd moved to Washington in 1996 to live near me.  So we packed a couple of bags and left town.  I needed a change of scenery, to breathe, to grieve, to heal.  We have a little place in North Idaho.  So we went.  And that is where I write from today.  It's all flooding back, even the trip to Idaho.

Here's what I know:  Unless there is crazy pathology or abuse in family relationships, you will find that in spite of any differences, disagreements, or arguments; in spite of petty squabbles, misunderstandings, or simply 'putting up with' the weirdnesses of various family members....you will miss them when they are gone.  Make peace with those you love every day, forgive the annoyances,  and celebrate the good in each other.  It's lonely to be the last one standing in your original family.  I am that.  And some days, I just want them all back, with all the flaws and flailings we all brought to the mix.  Me included.

At least, that's the view from here...©

GIVING THANKS LIST

I recently was reminded of the importance of a daily gratitude practice.  I used to keep a Gratitude Journal back when it was recommended by Oprah and I always did as Oprah directed.  But as those things do, it fell by the wayside.  It may be time to start again.

I've had a hard time feeling grateful this month.  First of all I've had a cold and lingering cough for over a month that is just about to take me under.  Of course the election result actually did take me under for about two weeks, as I dealt with the raw gut punch of that reality every morning upon awakening.  I emerged from my coma of grief and disbelief almost a week ago to find myself moving toward determination and activism, if not optimism.  Last Saturday it felt like the fog was lifting -- or maybe I'd just stopped taking codeine cough syrup during the day.  Whatever.  I felt I could actually function again without spending part of every day in tears and despair.

So, on this Thanksgiving Day I give thanks:

1.)  I am incredibly grateful for the wise, witty, determined example of those who are walking this path of political outrage and determination with me:  Pantsuit Nation and Pantsuit Nation Washington Chapter are a constant source of online inspiration and support; dozens of columnists have written eloquently about the election -- the whys and what nows -- in ways that increase my understanding and serve as motivation and a reality check; personal friends have come together in community to share and support each other.  I hosted a group of women friends a week ago -- six of us sitting in my living room expressing outrage, fear, and grief, but leaving with a sense of not being alone and that we can stand and rise again; our Tribe of friends gathered at our house last Saturday for a similar time of sharing, then focused on what we are grateful for, which served to shift energy away from despair to hope; my FB family and friends who share and comment and offer counsel and support.  Say what you will about social media, it has its good points.  I'm thankful for this:  http://www.onbeing.org/blog/parker-palmer-start-close-in/9057

2.)  Aside from the cataclysm of the election, this morning I write in this damp dawn, watching the rivulets of rain on the window and am grateful for this earth that sustains us, for the food I'll eat today that came from this earth and for all of those planters, growers, harvesters, transporters, marketers...everyone it took to create a feast at my table.  I'm thankful for the life of the turkey we will eat and hope that 'free range' allowed it at least a little more movement in its brief life.

3.)  I'm thankful for my lovely home, which we use to seek refuge, to welcome friends, to gather in family; for the electricity that illuminates my desk; for the clean clear water that made my coffee; for the warm radiators that are heating my house on this cool, damp morning; for my stove and refrigerator and all the conveniences I have that make my life easier.  I'm thankful for my car that allows me freedom of movement and facilitates adventures and connections near and far.

4.)  I am thankful for my teachers -- those who broaden my intellectual horizons; those who know the ways of the body and how to keep it healthy and strong; those who hold my emotional upsets gently and give me tools for going on and teach me to radically accept myself and have some self-compassion; those who show me my true Self through meditation, yoga, and Kirtan.

5.)  I'm thankful for friends -- for those who know me and love me anyway, who have my back and offer wise counsel, astute challenge, and ready celebration.  I hope I'm as good a friend to them.

6.)  I'm thankful for my extended family -- sisters-in-law, nieces, nephew and their families -- reminding me that I am not alone in the world as the only surviving member of my original family.  Life goes on and family endures.

7.)  I'm thankful for the family I've created; incredibly, indescribably thankful for my family.  Hub my mate for 48 years, since our first date, and 44 years married; what would my life be without him in it?  My sons who will never, ever know the depth of my love for them because it is unfathomable.  For my daughter-in-law who is an example to me every day of quiet grace, determination, and humor.  For Son Two's girlfriend who brings him such happiness and who has joined our family with kindness and good humor.  For my granddaughters who are only the most beautiful, courageous, brightest stars in the galaxy.  I look at them and hold them with such joy, such hopes for their future, such confidence they will make the world a better place as they grow into their power and presence in the world.  They are my legacy and if I can influence them even a tiny bit with my passion for life and good works, I will feel my life justified.

8.)  I am thankful for my health -- physical, emotional, and spiritual -- all of which allows me to sit in this place of grateful humility this morning with the hope that I'll be here throughout another unfolding year, with its joys and challenges, knowing every day will be a day for which to be grateful.

At least, that's the view from here...©

CALL ME SENTIMENTAL

Nobody likes a sentimental old fool.  Nor a young one, either, really. Sentimentality is typically scorned, ridiculed, and to be avoided at all cost.  It's just not cool.  Irony is cool.  I love irony.  Even so....

Imagine my lifelong struggle to hide the significantly wide vein of sentimentality that flows through my heart and spills in a waterfall of tears when my attempts to sandbag it into submission fail.  People squirm.  Or treat me like a pitiful child.  Or laugh.

I can armchair analyze that they are merely uncomfortable acknowledging their own tender hearts and this causes in them the knee-jerk need to ridicule in another what they don't like in themselves.  (That's called acting out of Shadow -- thank you, Carl Jung.)  I frankly think they should do their personal work around this and grow some self-acceptance and compassion, but that's not my call to make.  I just have to deal with how to express my own authentic heart and respond to the reactions I get without judgement or shame.  A tall order.

My first memory of this particular ridicule was in 7th grade.  I adored Mr. Carter, my Language Arts and Social Studies teacher.  He was kind, but firm; encouraging and funny; sensitive and tough.  He  drew me out of a shell of shyness such that I felt more confident just walking into his classroom every day. I worked hard in his class, learned a lot, and developed a life-long love of the subjects he taught -- literature, writing, history, and geography.   I sat in the front row and hung on his every word.  At the end of the year, he stood up at the beginning of one class to announce he wouldn't be back the following school year.  He was leaving our Junior High.  I was shocked.  Tears welled in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks falling onto my desk.  Before long, as he continued to talk, I was sobbing.  Then I heard the snickers, the whispers behind me, the chuckles.   Mr. Carter looked over my head and in no uncertain terms reprimanded those who were giggling and making crying noises and motions (fists rubbing eyes) and told them that being sentimental was nothing to be ashamed of; that it befitted a person who has a big heart.  I will always remember his defense of my reaction, but over the years my sentimentality has not been easier to bear.

I cry easily and mostly when I am touched to the core of my heart by a kindness, by gratitude, by appreciation, love, success, accomplishment, a Hallmark card.  Really, I am so easily manipulated by sentimentality that even when I know it's happening I am in full weep mode before I can tell myself they are just trying to get me to buy a new car.  I can be ambushed by movies, YouTube videos, literary passages, personally written kind words on a greeting card, inspirational speeches, Obama winning the Presidency (twice), treasured memories, weddings and funerals (life passages of any kind, really), hymns and carols, old toys, and photo albums....they all get me going.  It's a constant challenge.

I think my family has mostly come to terms with my teariness.  But I still try to hold it way back since I don't know for sure what the response will be in any given situation.

When Son-Two graduated from high school (10 years ago already!), some extended family came to town to share in the festivities.  They also came to see my mother, who had recently moved to an Assisted Living facility with increasing struggles with dementia.  As we all gathered 'round the dining room table, and joined hands to take turns saying what we are thankful for, as is our tradition,  I was overcome with gratitude for our being together -- such a rare occasion.  I found myself weeping as I tried to express my thanks for their making the trip to join in our family celebration and to support Mom in a difficult time.  One family member, uncomfortable with my tears, said -- "Oh, now we all have to cry-baby our way around the table!"  I was stunned, even as I understood the outburst from this person.  But I immediately squelched the tears and the feelings, building a little fort around my heart in that moment to stay safe from further ridicule.  I became the little 7th grader again, which is how I feel every time my heart swells and tears come in public.

Once a week my family gathers for Family Dinner doing the hand-holding thing.   To a person one common thread is gratitude for family gathered together.  I hear them all say it and feel thankful that this is a value shared.  But when I sit and look around at my little family: a husband I've know since he was 17, two grown sons, a daughter-in-law, two granddaughters, I am so filled with love, with gratitude, with so much I want to say to each one about what they mean to me -- all the memories I have of the silly, sublime, and even challenging times we've borne together, that I can barely speak or the floodgates would open wide.  So I just smile and say "I'm so incredibly thankful for all of you and for us being here together."  My voice cracks a little bit, but I contain the depth of feeling that courses through me, not wanting to scare the children or mess up my make up or cause others to look down in embarrassment for me.

I guess that's why occasionally I have to write about it when I'm home alone and can let the tears fall with every word.  My heart holds more love for my family, for my friends, for my many blessings, for my very life, than I can ever express.  But I know.  And I think Mr. Carter knew too.

At least, that's the (blurry) view from here....©

ONE LAST UPDATE, WITH GRATITUDE

OK.  After this post I'm going to move on from reporting on my recent episode of falling into the abyss.  But I feel sort of an obligation to offer an update because I have been overwhelmed by the number of people who have reached out with support and love.  Oh my.

The unfortunate thing is that in the throes of it all,  huddled inside the black hole where no light gets in, is that it's hard to truly believe that people care.  Well-wishes get interpreted as pity or obligation.  I tell ya, Depression is a BIG FAT LIAR!  Cuz now that I am feeling oh so much better, I remember the blog comments, the emails, the phone calls, the texts, the visits, the flowers delivered to my door, and I am beyond grateful for the love and care of my family and family of friends.  I believe.

So...here's the update:

After that last "Addendum" post that rang with optimism I fell back down, hard, and stayed in the back hole for several more days of non-stop crying and misery.  Then, slowly, I started to find the light...at least for now.  I have a feeling this bout with the Demons is a going to be an epic battle.

Now:

1.  I'm reading a great book called "Buddha's Brain" which I blogged about here:  http://circlingthemat.blogspot.com/2016/03/building-new-brain.htmlf  (Take a look.)
2.  I've gotten a call-back from a therapist who sounds like she will be a great fit once she is back at her practice at the end of April.
3.  Hub has recently connected with a guy (on a completely unrelated matter) who is the founder of a Mindfulness Center which teaches classes on MBSR (Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction - created by Jon Kabat-Zin and used widely now in medical settings and beyond.)  We are going to an introductory session together.
4.  I'm doing a sitting meditation faithfully every morning (short 15-20 mins).
5.  I'm ramping up my "move your body" (I hate the word 'exercise') opportunities.
6.  Getting to Yoga class has been a challenge, but yesterday morning I got up and did Sun Salutations in my living room for 15 minutes.
7.  I'm also doing a Facebook photography series and am reminded that when I'm looking through the lens all effort, worry, and time fall away in those moments of creative "seeing".

Re-reading that list makes me sound like I've just used my big bulging biceps and pulled myself right out of that hole and hit the ground running as if nothing had ever happened.  Let me clarify.  All of this is happening in slow motion.  Tears still come.  Anxiety still sets my heart pounding.  Often I curl up on the sofa with my blankie and stare out the window, with little energy for much of anything else.

But I don't feel hopeless and overwhelmed.  I feel like the worst is past and I'm highly motivated to collect some new tools for the toolbox for when the Demon Twins show up again.   I'm considering this:  Instead of hiding from them, lashing out at them, wishing they would crawl off and die, I might just have the courage and compassion to embrace them, to welcome them as familiar, albeit misguided, foes who seem to cling to the crazy notion that I need them for some reason.  I don't.  But the only way I can teach them that is to just love their good intentions into oblivion.

At least, that's the view from here....©

THE TRUTH BEHIND THE HIGHLIGHT REEL

I'm on vacation.  I promised myself I would lay off Facebook while I'm away this time, but I lied.  I can't do it.  I love Facebook.  I love keeping in touch with my friends and family, catching the news of the day, finding the silly and the sublime that is Facebook.  I've been posting photos of our trip, of course, although not quite as many as I usually do.  How can you miss me if I won't go away, right?

Son Two tells me Facebook is the "highlight reel" of everyone's life and I get what he means.  Rarely do folks post photos of themselves looking, acting, and feeling rotten.   I actually appreciate it when they do, since for me Facebook is a community and I love it best when it's interactive and honest.  But then, I keep my " FB Friends" list pretty well cleaned up to include people I care about and am willing to be honest with -- no old high school rivals, horrible ex-bosses, or former boyfriends I'm still trying to impress.

But I guess I'm guilty of the "highlight reel" thing too.  I don't usually post photos that make me look fat (it's the photo, it's not me!) and I pick pretty, fun things to display -- none of me sitting in construction zone traffic, getting pounded to the sand by a rogue wave, or lying in bed for several hours with a headache.  (Also part of Hawaiian adventures!)

I was thinking of this as we've traveled around the island on this trip.  I wondered if all the people I saw in less than total "Aloha Spirit" were also posting "highlight reel" coverage of their trip?

There was a young couple at the pool, she in a lounge chair reading and he walking toward her with a Mai Tai and a Pina Colada.  He reached out to offer her the Pina and she was having none of it.  In fact, she was pissed, a dark scowl on her face as she berated him and told him she DID NOT WANT that!  Hub and I observed this with some consternation and amusement -- telling ourselves the inside story that:  A) he was only being nice and she was a bitch; B) he'd been drinking all day and she was sick of it and trying to dissuade more of the same.    Whatever the story, she got up and stormed away while he chugged the Mai Tai and half the Pina.  Post that!

Then at the Kauai Coffee Company, crowded with coffee connoiseurs tasting every conceivable roast and blend, I saw a woman of about 70 literally stomp her foot and declare to her friend, loudly, "He just pushes my buttons and I CAN'T STAND IT!"  I noticed a man of about the same age turn and glare at her.  Another moment of wedded bliss, I thought.  Post that!

At the snorkeling beach yesterday I sat on a shady bench on the lawn watching Hub navigate the warm, blue sea observing the underwater life (I don't like to put my face in the water...but I'm working on it) when a man of about 50 joined me, but immediately sat on the far end with his back to me.  Not interested in casual conversation, I assumed; fine with me.  Soon a woman joined him and since he grabbed her butt, I figured he knew her pretty well.  They began to talk and before long he became quite animated.  It was weird, since they were right next to me, but maybe it was the wind, waves, and the fact that they were facing away from me, but I couldn't make out a word he was saying.  But boy was he mad!  He was on a rant about something that had to be expressed with great arm waving and swearing because literally the only words I could hear, since he placed his emphasis there, was f*#k, f*#king, f*#k!  And "never again!"  He was not mad at her...she was a sympathetic listener, but boy, something had riled him up!  Post that!

Yesterday, back at the pool, an attractive young couple sat facing each other on the edge of their chairs, she holding about a 10-month-old little boy on her lap.  They were engaged in what seemed to be an intense conversation.  As I walked by I saw him lean forward and interrupt her to say, "Look!  Let me spell this out for you!"  I wanted to smack him and feared for the role modeling he was providing for his son.  I hope she told him to shut the f*#k up, but I kept walking, so don't know how their drama ended.  Still, post that!

I guess my point is, "highlight reel" or not, real life comes along on vacation with us.   I'm just glad Hub and I are so compatible at this point in our marriage.  We've grown closer this trip rather than more irritated.  Rest assured, when we are smiling in those Facebook posts, we really mean it.  And for that, I'm truly grateful.

At least, that's the view from here...©

GRATEFUL, AT LAST

Well, that's over.  It's December 26th.  My favorite day of the year--usually.  But I feel a little like I'm just getting started.

Christmas season was quite a struggle for me this year.  My family and friends must have tired of my grousing and groaning and rolling my eyes and outright being negative with me singing my many and varied melodies of "I hate Christmas".  My decorating, cooking, and gift buying was minimal.  I sent out our Christmas letter, finally, on Christmas Eve -- a "Happy New Year" greeting as it turned out. I missed my mom a lot.  I derided the expectations, traditions, and commercialism of the whole thing.  I resented having to play along, when I just wanted to ignore the whole event.  Bah Humbug, indeed.

Then came Christmas Eve.  My family took up a whole row at the candlelight service at my beloved Unitarian Universalist Fellowship -- me no doubt beaming with pride and also noticing how all of us grandmas were looking around at extended families gathered and saw we were ALL beaming with pride.  It touched  my heart.

Then we all came home for our traditional Christmas Eve buffet, gathered in our living room which is under-populated the rest of the year, but becomes Christmas Central for a few days of winter when the fireplace is lit, candles burn, the tree is vibrant with color and Manheim Steamroller Christmas music serenades the scene.  Angel wrote her letter to Santa, we all exchanged gifts with Son-Two's girlfriend, who wouldn't be with us on Christmas, we talked and talked about Son-One and DIL's new baby, due in March, who would be part of our family next Christmas.  I felt all warm and fuzzy.

Christmas morning was quiet and I sat alone in the living room, letting all my angst and sorrow and anger and resentments melt away into a long meditation on gratitude.

In the afternoon, the gang gathered again.  Son One and his family brought cookies and fudge and spiced cider and bags of gifts and one excited little Angel who had had herself a fine Christmas morning at home playing with her Santa toys.  We all took turns unloading our stockings and opening gifts and I noted the thoughtfulness that went into each one -- the perfect gift for the person receiving it, obviously sought and purchased or made with pride and love.

Dinner, puzzles, books, assembly of the new bird feeding station, several games of darts on the new dart board, conversation, games, crafts….  How is it that I forget, or can't appreciate, that these are practically "Rockwellian" tableaus being played out right here in my house?  Why do I think it should all be even more perfect?  Even more jolly or festive or, I don't know, entertaining somehow?

Note to self:  Next year just shut up about hating Christmas and have a little faith.  It will all be more than OK.  It will be perfect, just as it is.

At least, that's the view from here… ©

MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU, DARLIN'

Two or three times a week Hub travels a two-lane highway that leads east out of our city through a series of small towns with ever ascending altitudes, until he reaches the mountain pass ski area where he snowboards. This highway is one of the most dangerous in Washington, so designated due to the high number of serious and fatal accidents recorded somewhere along the way annually.  So, every time he walks out of  the garage door to hop in his truck for the trek, I say a little prayer and visualize a protective layer of white light surrounding him and then I chant and light incense and sacrifice a small animal… OK, not that, but you get the idea.  I try to bring all the spirit worlds and their practices into play to keep my man safe on his journey.

I don't think too much about what happens once he gets up to the Pass.  I don't do snow sports, so I can't relate to, or even visualize, much of what he describes about this sport he loves so much.  I know he would never go without a helmet; I know he doesn't do crazy jumps and I know he always stays "in bounds", not taking off into uncharted, forbidden parts of the mountain.  There is risk, but he seems to mitigate it and have fun.

So, it's the highway I fear and last Monday was no exception.  He and Son-Two were looking forward to a day of "powder", relishing the 19 inches of newly fallen snow they would find at the Pass.  And they did.  They were having a grand time, as I understand it, until Hub hit a tree.  Thwack!

He hit it hard.  Really, really hard.  Because he goes fast.  Because he loves finding powder off the groomed runs and in the less-traversed areas.  He loves maneuvering his board with speed and grace,  finding peace, beauty, challenge, thrill, and utter mindfulness of the moment as he plots his course through stands of trees and down the mountain.

But last Monday he hit a hidden clump of hard ice buried under that fresh powder, which threw him off his carefully planned trajectory and into the trunk of a tall fir tree.  Son-Two was nearby and heard the sound of his dad's chest hitting the tree, saw him fall, saw him lie motionless.   

Hub felt himself hit the tree.  Felt his ribcage collapse inward.  Felt pain shoot through his upper body.  Felt the breath whoosh out of his mouth, none coming in to replace it.

He lay still, consciously and carefully assessing the possible damage.  He caught his breath and was able to tell Son-Two he was "OK".  He considered possible broken ribs, a broken sternum.  He assessed for shortness of breath, dizziness, nausea.  He stood and tried to move around a bit.  Pain.  Stiffness.  But breath came naturally, heartbeat was fairly regular, no light-headedness.  Nothing life threatening.  He was grateful that he had no collapsed lung or a severed aorta.  Only a physician would have the presence of mind, after a dramatic accident, to start the systems review and diagnostic analysis that led him to determine he could make it down the mountain without assistance.

He descended slowly, traversing his way to the bottom, then to the parking area.  Son-Two drove the dangerous highway home.  I was in the kitchen when they arrived, and heard as they came through the door,  "Dad hit a tree…he's OK."  

He was stiff and sore for a few days, but declared he was better by mid-week, when he started packing for his 4-day Idaho trip with 3 other buddies to go skiing and boarding…again.

I would have taken to my bed for a month and stayed away from the sport for the rest of the season -- maybe forever.  I guess I'm a Drama Queen that way.  But not Hub….he's in amazing physical condition and has a "keep on with it" attitude about most things, so he was ready to go again within a week of his collision, even though he finally surmised he might actually have a cracked rib in there.

I've been watching bits of the Sochi Olympics this week and they are fine athletes all, but I have my own almost 64-year old Olympian in the family, traveling a dangerous, but exhilarating path to golden glory.   May the Force always be with him.

At least, that's the view from here… ©

MAKIN' A LIST...

I guess the obvious theme of this month's posts will be "Christmas/Holidays".  Today's topic, Dear Readers, is my continuing attempt to create some modicum of magic...with lowered standards.

But here's the thing.  So far my decorating consists of a kitchen countertop covered with scraps of paper upon which I've started various lists:  gifts to buy, groceries to shop for and prep, guests to invite, cleaning to do,  RSVPs that need a response.... And there are duplicates, naturally, of lists I started and lost and re-wrote...

Without my lists, I would get nothing done.  But today I feel like the ONLY thing I am doing is writing more lists!  This is the point where my inner Scrooge is screaming, "IT'S NOT WORTH IT!"

Yesterday I had a long talk with Hub about this annual struggle of mine.  He pointed out that, while he didn't love being out in the rain and the wind stringing festive holiday lights on the bushes and house, he just kept visualizing how great it would look when he was done.  He said I get stuck in the "hassle-factor" processes of things and lose sight of the goal.

Bingo!  I've never been much of a goal-setter.  I react more often than act...at least in some places in my life.  I have a vague notion of an end result of some endeavor, fantasizing a soft focus magical feat of perfection, but to back up and  figure out how to make that happen, then do all the work required (some of it no fun!), and know it will NOT be perfect, I just conclude, "Not worth it!"

Writing this sort of stuns me.  I am known as a pretty organized and responsible person.  I take leadership in lots of things.  One might mistake me for being mature.  But what I wrote in the previous paragraph is anything but.  It's lazy, whiny, and damned immature, in my judgment ... and I am EXCELLENT at judging myself!

So, now I am making a list of all the events (goals) of the coming weeks:  Parties to host and to attend, dinner out with friends, family birthday party (mine!), Christmas Eve/Christmas Day family festivities, church services and emcee-ing a retirement program for our minister.  All of them are going to require planning, purchasing, organizing, and prepping in a myriad of ways.

But I will keep my eyes on the "prize" of being there, with family and friends, the work of it all behind me.   And once at my goal, I will be present with what is....not critiquing the imperfection of the end result, but appreciating the perfection of being blessed enough to have such an abundance of love and connection in my life.

Something to add to the Gratitude List.

At least, that's the view from here...©

CHRISTMAS FAIL

I am already thinking this post should probably be in my personal pity-party journal, rather than here to be endured by my readers.  But since this blog is about honesty and maybe validating the thoughts and feelings of others, here goes:

I am a failure at Christmas.  Take this morning.  Hub headed up to the mountain for a day of snowboarding.  I pretended I was going to clean the house. (He should have seen through that).  But, no!  Sneaky girl that I am, I saw it as a day to go out there and do some Christmas gift shopping!  I had a couple of ideas in mind, a couple of little things for Hub, as well as this's and thats for the rest of the clan.   I brushed my hair out of my face, put on a cute little outfit and sensible shoes and timed my drive to the "big mall" 20 minutes south of where I live to arrive not long after opening so I could park within 1/2 mile of the entrance.  It went swimmingly.

Then I went directly to the store where I just knew I'd have success with the items for Hub.  That's where it went wrong.  (I can't be specific here, cuz Hub reads this blog regularly, bless his heart -- "Hub, close your eyes!")   The items in question are not exotic; they should have had them.  The first, nada.  The second, a dumb and crazy-expensive version of what I wanted.  And the clerk was rude, so I left...right after purchasing the cute, cuddly jacket for myself which I found on the sale rack.  And a pair of gloves I've been wanting.  The dress didn't fit, so I vowed again to cut back on sweets and to hop on the treadmill when I got home.

I was a little flustered with my lack of success at what was supposed to be the easy part of this shopping expedition.  I got outside that store and started heading to the department store across the mall to shop for others, and with each step, visualizing that huge store, my unfamiliarity with where things were there, the plethora of overwhelming choices I would face....my steps slowed.  I stopped, closing my eyes as happy shoppers streamed around me, and decided I just couldn't do it.  I did an about-face and headed for the parking lot.

By the time I got back to my town I had thoroughly chastised myself for wimping out.  I decided to give it another go at a smaller version of the same store north of my town.   (Yes, that's a lot of miles, gas, time....Shush!)  But first I had to do something, I don't know, comforting.  Hello Starbucks!  (Forgetting that lose weight vow of only 20 minutes earlier).  Eggnog Latte and Cranberry Bliss Bar in hand I was back in the car and heading north....for 2 blocks.  Again, the store loomed in my imagination, parking, going in, choices, indecision, expense....grrr...I turned and headed home, kicking myself for not being more creative about gift-planning the other 11 months of the year.

That's where I go wrong.  I detest shopping in general.  I'm OK at specific things at specific stores, but to "go shopping" just for fun, or "nose around" for no particular reason, or "I'll find something eventually" adventures do not appeal to me.  So every December I am in this same predicament.  I didn't plan ahead, I didn't "craft" anything appropriate, any imagination or brilliance I might have had, say, in July is now as soggy and wet and inhospitable as this morning's weather.

Oh, I'll figure it out and pull it together.  I always do.  But I am not a fan of the season.  I think it's because, like with so many things as I look back, I did not pace myself.  I used to be really good at this. I was the friggin' Christmas Fairy around here, creating holiday magic and rituals and traditions, as if my children's childhoods would be bereft without them.  Then they grew up and I grew tired.

Yes, I know it's not about gifts.  But I don't even feel like decorating this year.  I'm slowly turning into the biggest Scrooge ever, if scored on the "Outward Displays of Christmas Spirit" scale.

What I want and what I will get, for sure, (gifts or not, decor or not) is... time with my beautiful family, a fire in the fireplace, yummy food, board games, jigsaw puzzles, holiday music, special gatherings and services at my church, parties with friends....

As for something to open on Christmas morning, I wish I could just wrap my heart, so full of love and devotion and pride and compassion, and offer it to everyone I care about as a talisman to keep them safe, content, and in love with life forever.  That's what I wish.  No shopping required.

At least, that's the view from here....©

PRETTY IN PINK

Trucks, cars, Legos, balls, Transformers, Ninja Turtles, jumping, punching, slamming doors, hurling stuff.....

I raised boys.  Two of them, although at times it felt like twenty.  The house was always a whirlwind of toys and noise and half-eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwiches smeared on the upholstery.

So when Son-One grew up and started dating a beautiful young woman who had a beautiful 10-month old daughter, I felt we'd both hit the jackpot.  Him for falling in love and me for finally getting the chance to experience life with A LITTLE GIRL!!!

It has been fabulous.  She's three now.  She loves to jump, run, play hide-and-seek, sing songs, and color.  She sets out dishes for tea parties and takes tender good care of her "babies".  She builds amazing towers with blocks, writes her name, counts to 20, and remembers EVERYTHING!

She also dances.  There's the usual "Ring Around the Rosie", and spontaneous "dance parties" in the living room when a song with a good beat comes on the stereo.  But now, well, she has advanced beyond all that.

She is a ballerina.

Being social and smart and obviously uniquely talented, her parents decided to sign her up for a beginning ballet class through the park district.  Problem, it starts at 5:00 -- just a smidge too early for them to get her there on time after they get off work.  Ivy to the rescue!  "I'll take her!"  I declared, hardly able to contain my pleasure at the prospect.  I assumed all was ready last week, for her first class.

Then I got a text mid-day...."We just realized she needs a leotard, tights, and ballet slippers...do you think you could pick those up and we'll pay you back?"

What sort of language was this?  Leotard?  Slippers?  Tights?  That sounds nothing at all like cleats, balls, and batting gloves!  Where does one even start to shop for this stuff????  I had a moment of panic before coming to my senses and signing onto Facebook.  Soon I had a string of comments from moms of girls telling me where to go and what to buy.  Easy, breezy.

Angel and I had a terrific shopping expedition.  She was happy to try things on, but not as thrilled with the simple black leotard as she was with pointing to a multitude of bright, sparkly tutus she wanted as well.  ("Another time, sweetie....maybe next time....").

At class, she was shy at first.  And why not?  She and another little girl were the only "new girls" -- the other six girls had already been together for one previous session.  But brilliant child and phenomenal dancer that she is, she soon joined in and was the star of the class!  Yes, indeed, she pirouetted and plie'ed, and grand jete'ed with abandon.  Perhaps she was a bit eager to "beat" the other girls across the room -- we will discuss the non-racing aspects of ballet with her.  And we will suggest that going potty half-way through the 45 minute class (with the requisite completely disrobing to do so) is maybe not the best use of her time or her parents' money...but it seemed to be a trend with about half the girls, so maybe she just didn't want to feel left out.

As for me, I didn't cry, which is my usual response to uncontrollable waves of joy and delight.  I just watched her with a smile full of pride and a heart full of gratitude for this little Angel in my life.  And when her parents arrived,  my heart swelled even more to see the love and pride they took in watching their little girl take first steps into a new, bigger world.

Just like when I watched Angel's daddy take his first swing at a ball on a tee.  OK.  Now I'm crying....and it feels so good.

At least, that's the view from here....©