My niece Roslyn's dog Leo passed on last night. We are all very sad, and will miss him a great deal.
Leo came into our lives about four years ago right before Christmas. I was taking my son to school and I saw a beautiful golden Cocker Spaniel running down a busy street. There didn't seem to be anyone with him, so I stopped & opened the minivan door. He jumped in as if he belonged.
I assumed that he had gotten out of his yard and that his people were frantic. He was a sweet, well-mannered dog & I couldn't imagine that he was homeless. His tag was from a local animal shelter, so I called a reported that I had him.
We kept him overnight, but our fence had a hole in it and our cats did not like the DOG in the house. I imposed on some loving friends, Butch and Cathy, who fostered him. They are known to say things like, "Oh well, what's another dog for a couple of days?" But as we know, another dog is ANOTHER DOG, and I couldn't tell them how much I appreciated their help. And we thought I'd be getting a phone call any minute from a grateful owner.
A few days passed and I called the shelter again. They told me that a woman had recently adopted him, and they gave me her address. We drove to the address, but it didn't exist. We found a similar name in the phone book and left a message, but no return call. We thought she might be a student gone home for the holidays, and expected her to call in January, but no.
Coincidentally, fortuitously, my niece Roslyn wanted a dog. She was even then filling up her chore chart with stars in order to prove to her mother that she was responsible enough for a dog. And here was THE DOG. Ellen was skeptical, since Cocker Spaniel was not what she was thinking, but Leo won her over.
We assumed by Leo's energy and spirit that he was a young dog, but the vet told Ellen that he was at least 10 years old, maybe older. He lived with Roslyn for the last years of his life. I have no idea what his life was like before we found him, but I think most of it must have been good. How else could he have such a loving, trusting personality?
So goodbye Leo, thank you for being with us. We love you.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Monday, January 19, 2009
writers and witches, and words...oh my!: announcing...
Happy Day to Celebrate Martin Luther King Jr's Life & Legacy!
For now:
Go to this blog
writers and witches, and words...oh my!: announcing...
Comment and enter to win 13 things to get you through winter. I am really counting on winning this, though, just to warn you! :-)
And tell Annie I said HI!
For now:
Go to this blog
writers and witches, and words...oh my!: announcing...
Comment and enter to win 13 things to get you through winter. I am really counting on winning this, though, just to warn you! :-)
And tell Annie I said HI!
Sunday, January 18, 2009
What has happened - part one Robert's birthday
My cold is breaking. Now I am just hacking like a one-woman TB ward, but at least I feel better. Except when I blow my nose & accidentally blow out my ears and feel dizzy and deaf for a few minutes. Other than that, I'm great.
In the massiveness of the new year, tax season, and my bad cold, I forgot to mention my oldest's son's birthday. Poor thing, it's like this every year. It's just after Christmas, so everyone is tired and broke. It's the beginning of the semester, beginning of the tax season, beginning of everything, and we miss the beginning of Robert's life.
Robert was born 23 years ago on January 10.
Thursday, January 9th, Bob and I were at the Family Mart with a couple of weeks worth of groceries. The grocery clerk was either sick, slow, or very conscientious. I remember she did a price check on just about every other item. Just as the last box of cereal slid through, I felt a trickle down my legs. It wasn't a gush, like I'd come to expect from old movies and older wives. I knew what it was like to pee on myself --- I'd done that enough. This was different.
I stepped away. Bob glanced at me nervously as he wrote the check for the groceries. I smiled weakly. The clerk asked for his ID. He gave her his driver's license, but she wanted more. He searched his wallet for another ID. She called the manager. I shifted from foot to foot, discretely (or not so much) patting my skirt to see if it was wet. Finally, we buy our damn groceries.
When we get to the car and start putting the bags in the car, I tell Bob my water has broken. He wants to drive to the hospital. I insist we go home, put away groceries and call the doctor.
We go to the hospital. Bob calls our parents. My mother & my sister go to a candlelight vigil for a young man who will be executed the next morning... or was it midnight? I think, Jesus, take his poor soul and don't send it into my baby. OK, that was selfish, but what would you do in my position?
My water has broken, but I don't go into labor. Friday morning, I begin taking god-awful medication to induce labor. Robert was born just before the doctor would have performed a C-section to prevent infection or whatever. I heard them talking about it and demanded a C-section right there and then. They laugh at me. Apparently, they are used to this kind of thing, but I still think I should send them flowers afterwards.
Robert was a wonderful baby, but very demanding. He wanted to be held, he wanted to be looked at, he wanted to be with the tall people. In many ways, his son Brendon is like that too. I smile.
Robert is now a man with a wife and two sons. He is finding his feet, being a man, being a good man. I have no doubt that he will weather these hard times we all share, but which are hardest on the young. I see his strength, his kindness, and somewhere somehow, his wisdom.
Happy Birthday Robert: late but heartfelt.
(And I never did go back to that Family Mart.)
In the massiveness of the new year, tax season, and my bad cold, I forgot to mention my oldest's son's birthday. Poor thing, it's like this every year. It's just after Christmas, so everyone is tired and broke. It's the beginning of the semester, beginning of the tax season, beginning of everything, and we miss the beginning of Robert's life.
Robert was born 23 years ago on January 10.
Thursday, January 9th, Bob and I were at the Family Mart with a couple of weeks worth of groceries. The grocery clerk was either sick, slow, or very conscientious. I remember she did a price check on just about every other item. Just as the last box of cereal slid through, I felt a trickle down my legs. It wasn't a gush, like I'd come to expect from old movies and older wives. I knew what it was like to pee on myself --- I'd done that enough. This was different.
I stepped away. Bob glanced at me nervously as he wrote the check for the groceries. I smiled weakly. The clerk asked for his ID. He gave her his driver's license, but she wanted more. He searched his wallet for another ID. She called the manager. I shifted from foot to foot, discretely (or not so much) patting my skirt to see if it was wet. Finally, we buy our damn groceries.
When we get to the car and start putting the bags in the car, I tell Bob my water has broken. He wants to drive to the hospital. I insist we go home, put away groceries and call the doctor.
We go to the hospital. Bob calls our parents. My mother & my sister go to a candlelight vigil for a young man who will be executed the next morning... or was it midnight? I think, Jesus, take his poor soul and don't send it into my baby. OK, that was selfish, but what would you do in my position?
My water has broken, but I don't go into labor. Friday morning, I begin taking god-awful medication to induce labor. Robert was born just before the doctor would have performed a C-section to prevent infection or whatever. I heard them talking about it and demanded a C-section right there and then. They laugh at me. Apparently, they are used to this kind of thing, but I still think I should send them flowers afterwards.
Robert was a wonderful baby, but very demanding. He wanted to be held, he wanted to be looked at, he wanted to be with the tall people. In many ways, his son Brendon is like that too. I smile.
Robert is now a man with a wife and two sons. He is finding his feet, being a man, being a good man. I have no doubt that he will weather these hard times we all share, but which are hardest on the young. I see his strength, his kindness, and somewhere somehow, his wisdom.
Happy Birthday Robert: late but heartfelt.
(And I never did go back to that Family Mart.)
Monday, January 12, 2009
Siii-yuck
I am siii-yuck. I have a cooooold. My nose hurts, I coughing up junk. I am taking generic mucinex & coricidin HBP and drinking lots of water. But I am siii-yuck. And I am at work. And I have to work at my OTHER job tonight. And have a meeting tomorrow night. Or is that Wednesday? Any way. I am sii-yuck.
I just thought I'd whine a little and let you know what's going on. I hope you are all well and warm.
I just thought I'd whine a little and let you know what's going on. I hope you are all well and warm.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Photo tag
Four is a sacred number in many cultures and religions including the Zia tribe of New Mexico, The Four cups of wine drunk during Jewish Passover, The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, The Four Noble Truths of Buddhism. We have many examples in biology and nature. The four chambers of the human heart, a four leaf clover, hmm, it's wonderful to meditate on this.
I have been tagged by Diary of a Wicked Stepmom.
1. Go to the 4th picture folder on your computer.
2. Post the 4th picture in that folder.
3. Explain the picture.
4. Tag 4 more people.
It has taken me several days to get the picture to upload, and now it's not where I wanted it, but what the heck?
This is my grandson Gabe with a bear given to him by Aunt LaLa. It is still bigger than he is... OK, it's almost as big as I am.
I am tagging these people, because they might think this is fun, as I did.
- Balance in Life
- Four's Flights
- The Redbook of Westmarch
- writers & witches & words, oh my... (If you've already been tagged, oops... I'm a little behind.)
Best laid plans
This morning I am taking my son to the dentist (regular check-up) and the doctor (ear ache.) I am not sure about making the poor baby get his teeth cleaned while his ear hurts, but who knows, maybe it will help.
This means: I am not at work. Not at Work 1 and not at Work 2. This means that tonight and tomorrow I will have MORE work, because no one else is going to do my work.
I realize that makes me sound like a bad mom. My poor child has dirty teeth and an ear ache, and all I think about is work. I would look down on myself, if that were physically possible.
My very fine counselor has suggested that I need to pass off some things. We were talking mostly about my wonderful teenage son who is very comfortable at home, not working, not going to school. The idea is that we need to make him less comfortable (in a loving way). It has been noted that this will be easier for me if I pass to my husband, who is pretty comfortable saying, "no, you can't have the car and twenty bucks."
I realize that when I look at my middle son, or my oldest, or just about anyone, I want to take them and solve their problems. I want to make a list of things to do, suggest alternatives, help them. I realize that 1) I can't solve the problems, 2) I get very stressed feeling that I need to solve every one's problems, and 3) I have trouble trusting people to take care of themselves.
And so: pass. I will pass the problems with the boys to Bob. I will just pass on the problems of every Tomasina, Dick, and Harriet that come into my life. I will listen without feeling responsible. Or at least, that is my intention.
This means: I am not at work. Not at Work 1 and not at Work 2. This means that tonight and tomorrow I will have MORE work, because no one else is going to do my work.
I realize that makes me sound like a bad mom. My poor child has dirty teeth and an ear ache, and all I think about is work. I would look down on myself, if that were physically possible.
My very fine counselor has suggested that I need to pass off some things. We were talking mostly about my wonderful teenage son who is very comfortable at home, not working, not going to school. The idea is that we need to make him less comfortable (in a loving way). It has been noted that this will be easier for me if I pass to my husband, who is pretty comfortable saying, "no, you can't have the car and twenty bucks."
I realize that when I look at my middle son, or my oldest, or just about anyone, I want to take them and solve their problems. I want to make a list of things to do, suggest alternatives, help them. I realize that 1) I can't solve the problems, 2) I get very stressed feeling that I need to solve every one's problems, and 3) I have trouble trusting people to take care of themselves.
And so: pass. I will pass the problems with the boys to Bob. I will just pass on the problems of every Tomasina, Dick, and Harriet that come into my life. I will listen without feeling responsible. Or at least, that is my intention.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Here we are
I did go shopping, and Mark is wearing pants that will fit very well in about 5 lbs. They do not have holes in the knee at present. (I don't think they do... he wore them all day, so I ought to check.) They are a little ratty looking. Why can't I buy kids pants that look new but don't look like school uniforms? He says he's a "camo kind of guy," but why does the camo have to look like it's been through a war? Why do I have to pay extra for frayed edges? And what's with the jeans that look like there is ground in mud? Who thought that was a good idea?
It's been a long day, so I'll have to leave these important ponderings for another time.
I read Plum Lucky by Janet Evanovich & laughed out loud. Bob thinks I was laughing at his comments about the football games, but I wasn't. I need another good book. Maybe Boards that make a difference. Or not.
It's been a long day, so I'll have to leave these important ponderings for another time.
I read Plum Lucky by Janet Evanovich & laughed out loud. Bob thinks I was laughing at his comments about the football games, but I wasn't. I need another good book. Maybe Boards that make a difference. Or not.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
The New Year
It is a cold, misty Sunday morning, and I really don't have much to say. I am trying to squeeze the last day of the holiday until there isn't a drop of time left. Tomorrow Mark goes back to school. Joseph goes down to Midlands Tech to get advised and sign up for classes. Bob will go back to work and face the mountain of e-mails and phone messages from people who are not familiar with the concept of Christmas holidays. I will go to two jobs and try to get everything done to close out the old year and start the new year.
Right now, I am thinking about cleaning my house, thinking about laundry, thinking about paying bills.
I won't take the tree down until Wednesday, so it sits, still glittering. It's sort of a sad, lop-sided tree. Not Charlie Brown sad, but shy, leaning back into the corner. A good tree for this year.
I guess I'd better go see if Mark has clothes to wear tomorrow. He is in between sizes, so it is a real question. I may have to hit the store this afternoon. I shake my head in denial. No more shopping! Haven't I done enough?
I guess this is the lull between Christmas and back-to-normal. From looking at other blogs, I'd say I'm not alone in this lull... the doldrums. Sitting and waiting for a wind.
God, I'm depressing myself... Back to work.
Right now, I am thinking about cleaning my house, thinking about laundry, thinking about paying bills.
I won't take the tree down until Wednesday, so it sits, still glittering. It's sort of a sad, lop-sided tree. Not Charlie Brown sad, but shy, leaning back into the corner. A good tree for this year.
I guess I'd better go see if Mark has clothes to wear tomorrow. He is in between sizes, so it is a real question. I may have to hit the store this afternoon. I shake my head in denial. No more shopping! Haven't I done enough?
I guess this is the lull between Christmas and back-to-normal. From looking at other blogs, I'd say I'm not alone in this lull... the doldrums. Sitting and waiting for a wind.
God, I'm depressing myself... Back to work.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Thursday, January 1, 2009
New Month's Resolutions
I have decided that I am not good at long term goals. I have decided that is OK. So, after 48 years of thought, these are my resolutions/goals for January.
1) Be kind and patient, even with the stress of tax season. Do not roll eyes at clients, employees, my boss, my husband, my children, board members, parents, grocery store clerks, or anyone else who is watching.
2) Walk at least 4 times. I know this doesn't seem like a lot, but with tax season & closing the books at the church, I won't have a lot of time, even for things that are good for me. And four times is better than what I did in December: 0.
3) Eat a good breakfast every day.
4) Take my medication every day.
5) Continue to write, in the blogs or my journal (theoretical as it is) or even a story.
6) Read for pleasure and information. Not necessarily at the same time. (This is sort of a softball goal, like "breath every day.")
7) Have lunch out with someone at least once in the month, tax season or not.
8) Get both female cats spayed. SOON. Tomorrow. Yesterday. NOW.
I'll leave it there, since eight is my favorite number. I wonder if I should print this out and stick it on posty notes?
1) Be kind and patient, even with the stress of tax season. Do not roll eyes at clients, employees, my boss, my husband, my children, board members, parents, grocery store clerks, or anyone else who is watching.
2) Walk at least 4 times. I know this doesn't seem like a lot, but with tax season & closing the books at the church, I won't have a lot of time, even for things that are good for me. And four times is better than what I did in December: 0.
3) Eat a good breakfast every day.
4) Take my medication every day.
5) Continue to write, in the blogs or my journal (theoretical as it is) or even a story.
6) Read for pleasure and information. Not necessarily at the same time. (This is sort of a softball goal, like "breath every day.")
7) Have lunch out with someone at least once in the month, tax season or not.
8) Get both female cats spayed. SOON. Tomorrow. Yesterday. NOW.
I'll leave it there, since eight is my favorite number. I wonder if I should print this out and stick it on posty notes?
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
It's beginning to look a lot like Tax Season....
This is a time when one should reflect on the past year & think about what to do better in the next year and what to keep doing well. It is.
Unfortunately, I have to do a bunch of year end stuff, plus stuff that didn't get done when it should have, while getting ready for TAX SEASON. My resolutions right now are limited to drawing up office procedures to make sure this tax season flows with Kathy-precision. I am not a control-freak, but I do have standards.
For instance, rule #1: if a tax return comes in and it is too complicated for you to do, don't hide it in your in-box. Give it to ME. Or at least ask me for help. I don't bite. And if I do, I clearly state up front that there will be an extra charge for that...
Maybe this is rule #1: write notes about what you are doing, what you asked, what you looked up. I'm not a mind-reader and neither is anyone in the IRS if (heaven forbid) we get audited.
No, wait, this is rule #1: don't act like a client is stupid because he or she doesn't understand your terminology. Just explain it better (and don't sigh or role your eyes, even on the phone.) If the clients understood tax laws, regulations, and terminology, they wouldn't need us.
That's definitely rule #1. Now let me go work on rules 4 through 4000. It's beginning to look a lot like tax season....
Unfortunately, I have to do a bunch of year end stuff, plus stuff that didn't get done when it should have, while getting ready for TAX SEASON. My resolutions right now are limited to drawing up office procedures to make sure this tax season flows with Kathy-precision. I am not a control-freak, but I do have standards.
For instance, rule #1: if a tax return comes in and it is too complicated for you to do, don't hide it in your in-box. Give it to ME. Or at least ask me for help. I don't bite. And if I do, I clearly state up front that there will be an extra charge for that...
Maybe this is rule #1: write notes about what you are doing, what you asked, what you looked up. I'm not a mind-reader and neither is anyone in the IRS if (heaven forbid) we get audited.
No, wait, this is rule #1: don't act like a client is stupid because he or she doesn't understand your terminology. Just explain it better (and don't sigh or role your eyes, even on the phone.) If the clients understood tax laws, regulations, and terminology, they wouldn't need us.
That's definitely rule #1. Now let me go work on rules 4 through 4000. It's beginning to look a lot like tax season....
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Happy Birthday Ellen
Today is also my sister's birthday. She is my younger sister, the youngest of the three children. Four and half years is a big difference when you are 6 and 10 or even 16 and 20. Now, it means nothing.
Ellen is my best friend, other than my husband. I count on her for her humor, her clarity, her intelligence.
She is the best organized person I know. She is organized in a good way---a comfortable, I know where to find things way, not an alphabetize the family kind of way.
I swear she could herd cats. She has a wonderful way of connecting with people and getting them to work to their potential.
She cares about justice, mercy, and people, which is why she is a great lawyer. Her clients know she is working for them, not just the money.
Ellen is always there for me, and I hope I am there for her when she needs me the most.
I love you, Ellen. Happy Birthday.
Plug for Ellen's law firm
Ellen is my best friend, other than my husband. I count on her for her humor, her clarity, her intelligence.
She is the best organized person I know. She is organized in a good way---a comfortable, I know where to find things way, not an alphabetize the family kind of way.
I swear she could herd cats. She has a wonderful way of connecting with people and getting them to work to their potential.
She cares about justice, mercy, and people, which is why she is a great lawyer. Her clients know she is working for them, not just the money.
Ellen is always there for me, and I hope I am there for her when she needs me the most.
I love you, Ellen. Happy Birthday.
Plug for Ellen's law firm
Happy Birthday Baby Roslyn
Baby Roslyn is nine years old today. She is a writer, an artist, a game player, an animal keeper, and an all around wonderful person! She is always up for an adventure. She will go shopping with me (sometimes). In my house of boys, she adds a little bit of girlness when she visits. Not too much, though.
Roslyn is my sister's daughter, born on Ellen's birthday. I guess that is the best birthday present ever, huh?
Happy Birthday Roslyn.
I wanted to upload a video of Joan Baez singing this, but between dial-up and unclear copyright, this is what I settled on:
May God bless and keep you always,
May your wishes all come true,
May you always do for others
And let others do for you.
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young.
May you grow up to be righteous,
May you grow up to be true,
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you.
May you always be courageous,
Stand upright and be strong,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young.
May your hands always be busy,
May your feet always be swift,
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift.
May your heart always be joyful,
May your song always be sung,
May you stay forever young,
Forever young, forever young,
May you stay forever young.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Chillin'
It is gray and rainy, though not cold. It's hard to get out in this type of weather.
Yesterday I went to work, but left after only a couple of hours. I met some very old friends at Starbucks. The friends aren't old, but the friendship is. We've been friends since grade school, although I haven't seen Margaret in two years and Vicky in so long I can't remember. It's amazing to feel a connection even after a long time. There is an oddness, too. A realization that people who played such integral roles in the formation of Kathy are the same and yet so different that I can't possibly explain who I am now, or understand who they are. It's OK, though. There are different types of friendships. They are a part of my base.
I need to get birthday gifts for my sister and my niece for their birthday tomorrow. I am making a carrot cake. I may break in my new Kitchen Aid mixer by making some bread to go with the soup she has made for the birthday gathering. That will be tomorrow, since I want it to be fresh.
It's looking like I will have to face the world. After an Excedrin and a small nap...
The Secret is in the Sauce: Win a Keurig Platinum Brewing System and $50 worth of K
The Secret is in the Sauce: Win a Keurig Platinum Brewing System and $50 worth of K
This web site has lots of give-aways, and it also serves as a gateway to lots of interesting blogs. I had no idea there were so many people writing about so many things. Some of my favorites are listed on the side, and the list is getting longer.
This web site has lots of give-aways, and it also serves as a gateway to lots of interesting blogs. I had no idea there were so many people writing about so many things. Some of my favorites are listed on the side, and the list is getting longer.
Friday, December 26, 2008
The Day After
Christmas, as we all knew, was wonderful. Mark is OK with Santa giving him tons of Lindor Truffles. He is glad Santa knows he doesn't care for mint.
We had a great time at my sister's house. My brother bought hula-hoops. It seems he had to buy a dozen. So we tried to hula hoop in the back yard. As my husband said, "I have never been able to hula-hoop in my life, but I think that today is the day I will figure it out." We didn't, except Mark, but there were no back injuries either.
We ate Ellen's do-ahead breakfast, a sausage-cheese casserole she makes every Christmas and other times if we get lucky. She had also made Hello Dollies & chocolate chip cookies. I had one mini BaBa cake (a small cork shaped cake soaked in rum) and took a small nap.
We opened presents, then settled in for game playing, movie watching, book reading. Bob & I ran home to stick the turkey in the oven. It's amazing what you can do if you read the directions and stick a few green apples up the turkey's ... whatever that part of its body was. We ran back later to make the cardiac mashed potatoes (with Smart Balance & lite sour cream because it IS the third time we've had it in two months.) My sister cooked the standing rib roast, my brother roasted veggies, and we all ate very well.
Today, as Bob "rests" and watches the grandsons, I will go into work to try to get year end/pre-tax season work done. I am meeting a good friend for coffee, so that will make the day easier. So, off I go...
Stay warm and safe.
We had a great time at my sister's house. My brother bought hula-hoops. It seems he had to buy a dozen. So we tried to hula hoop in the back yard. As my husband said, "I have never been able to hula-hoop in my life, but I think that today is the day I will figure it out." We didn't, except Mark, but there were no back injuries either.
We ate Ellen's do-ahead breakfast, a sausage-cheese casserole she makes every Christmas and other times if we get lucky. She had also made Hello Dollies & chocolate chip cookies. I had one mini BaBa cake (a small cork shaped cake soaked in rum) and took a small nap.
We opened presents, then settled in for game playing, movie watching, book reading. Bob & I ran home to stick the turkey in the oven. It's amazing what you can do if you read the directions and stick a few green apples up the turkey's ... whatever that part of its body was. We ran back later to make the cardiac mashed potatoes (with Smart Balance & lite sour cream because it IS the third time we've had it in two months.) My sister cooked the standing rib roast, my brother roasted veggies, and we all ate very well.
With the babies, the kids, the kids who are officially adults, the adults who still think of themselves as kids, and Dad the patriarch, we had quite a crew. Lots of fun, little or no drama, a good bit of Excedrin, and lots and lots of Christmas.
Today, as Bob "rests" and watches the grandsons, I will go into work to try to get year end/pre-tax season work done. I am meeting a good friend for coffee, so that will make the day easier. So, off I go...
Stay warm and safe.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Weaning Santa
I believe in Santa Claus. Not in the "Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus" way, although that is nice. In the Miracle on 34th Street, Santa Clause, Year Without a Santa Claus kind of way.
I hesitate to write this post at all, for a few reasons. One is that my inner amateur anthropologist historian wannabee is itching to hi-jack this post and turn it into a discussion of the mythology of Santa and cultural attitudes toward him over the centuries, including my belief that "Christmas spirit" in the form of belief in Santa among children aged 2 to 8 has not diminished and may, in fact, have grown. You will be glad to hear, I'm not going to let that happen this morning. Next week maybe...
Another is that my youngest son Mark doesn't usually read my blog, but who knows. And right now, he either believes in Santa completely, or has consciously decided to maintain the myth. In either case, I sort of screwed it up this year.
In our house, Santa was in charge of stockings and one gift. The one gift was usually big although not always expensive. There was often a big Christmas bear. That made a really nice show on Christmas morning: small pile of gifts turns into big pile with only three additional packages. This tradition came about because Mom told me that when we were little, all of our presents were from Santa. Then one Christmas, we opened a mountain of toys from Santa, turned to Mom & Dad and said, "What did y'all get us?" After that, at least one gift said "Love Mom & Dad." I went the other way with that one.
This year, in my house, there is no other gift from Santa and the stocking isn't great. We didn't have the money for a lot of stuff and I didn't want to spend it on yo-yos and cars and stuff Mark doesn't really like. That's show Christmas. Instead, the stocking is stuffed with a couple of cool things and lots of candy (Lindor Truffles... times are hard, but the candy doesn't have to be). The cool things would have included a gyroscope and a prism, but I lost the bag of stuff I bought at the State Museum gift shop. It is probably in a closet.
In addition to a cash crunch, I decided to try a new medication for my migraines, which not only didn't help the migraines, seems to have made it harder for me to think, remember, and be nice. I don't know if that is what is responsible for my manic 4 am blogging (which I kind of enjoyed) and my inability to remember who I bought presents for and where I put them, but that's my story and I'm sticking to it.
I'm not really sure of the point of this rambling blog that I can't blame on medication. Although this Christmas may be a little disappointing Santa-wise, it will be wonderful in other ways. And even though Mark is getting ready to move from child to one of Santa's elves as Gabe & Brendon become old enough to enjoy Santaness, I suspect there will be another year of Santa for Mark. Probably Santa's little curtain call, as I get it together perfectly to make up for screwing up this year. If Santa has to retire, I'd like him to go out on a good year.
I hesitate to write this post at all, for a few reasons. One is that my inner amateur anthropologist historian wannabee is itching to hi-jack this post and turn it into a discussion of the mythology of Santa and cultural attitudes toward him over the centuries, including my belief that "Christmas spirit" in the form of belief in Santa among children aged 2 to 8 has not diminished and may, in fact, have grown. You will be glad to hear, I'm not going to let that happen this morning. Next week maybe...
Another is that my youngest son Mark doesn't usually read my blog, but who knows. And right now, he either believes in Santa completely, or has consciously decided to maintain the myth. In either case, I sort of screwed it up this year.
In our house, Santa was in charge of stockings and one gift. The one gift was usually big although not always expensive. There was often a big Christmas bear. That made a really nice show on Christmas morning: small pile of gifts turns into big pile with only three additional packages. This tradition came about because Mom told me that when we were little, all of our presents were from Santa. Then one Christmas, we opened a mountain of toys from Santa, turned to Mom & Dad and said, "What did y'all get us?" After that, at least one gift said "Love Mom & Dad." I went the other way with that one.
The stockings started to deteriorate as we got older. It's harder to find nice cheap stuff for older kids. And the kids stay up later. My mom and her sister saw each other twice a year & had a lot to catch up on. This involved vodka. The chance of the right presents getting in the right stockings decreased exponentially once it got past 8:00. By the time the youngest child was ready to give up stockings (I was 17, I think, and the third oldest cousin), the first part of Christmas morning was spent trading stocking stuffers.
This year, in my house, there is no other gift from Santa and the stocking isn't great. We didn't have the money for a lot of stuff and I didn't want to spend it on yo-yos and cars and stuff Mark doesn't really like. That's show Christmas. Instead, the stocking is stuffed with a couple of cool things and lots of candy (Lindor Truffles... times are hard, but the candy doesn't have to be). The cool things would have included a gyroscope and a prism, but I lost the bag of stuff I bought at the State Museum gift shop. It is probably in a closet.
In addition to a cash crunch, I decided to try a new medication for my migraines, which not only didn't help the migraines, seems to have made it harder for me to think, remember, and be nice. I don't know if that is what is responsible for my manic 4 am blogging (which I kind of enjoyed) and my inability to remember who I bought presents for and where I put them, but that's my story and I'm sticking to it.
I'm not really sure of the point of this rambling blog that I can't blame on medication. Although this Christmas may be a little disappointing Santa-wise, it will be wonderful in other ways. And even though Mark is getting ready to move from child to one of Santa's elves as Gabe & Brendon become old enough to enjoy Santaness, I suspect there will be another year of Santa for Mark. Probably Santa's little curtain call, as I get it together perfectly to make up for screwing up this year. If Santa has to retire, I'd like him to go out on a good year.
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Christmas Eve
It is warmer than yesterday. That's nice. Since we know we aren't going to get snow on Christmas, I'd just as soon have a nice warm 65 or 70 degree day.
Last night we went to my brother's house for dinner. My sister and her daughter share a birthday (December 28), but Johnny will be out of town then, and so he cooked last night. He made a lamb stew with apricot and pine nuts, served over jasmine rice. For dessert, we had a choice of "birthday cake" ice cream cake or Reese's peanut butter ice cream cake. I had a little of each.
He invited another couple, friends from the University. One was the daughter of a rather famous science fiction writer. I am such a pathetic author groupie that I went from having an intelligent conversation with an intelligent woman to blathering and drooling something along the lines of "Oh my god, I don't really read that much science fiction, but I've read that! I LOVED that book." I think I recovered and was able to continue the evening as if I were an intelligent adult, but jeez, I can be a dolt.
Today, I am going to work to print organizers so our previous tax clients can gather their important tax documents. (You mean I was supposed to save the property tax receipt? Again? You wanted that LAST year!) I will buy one or two more gifts, depending on the Christmas fairness fairy's determination. (If a 19 year old living at home buys a gift with his money for a 10 year old brother, does that balance the gift from the 10 year old to the 19 year old bought by the parents, or do the parents need to get another gift for the 10 year old?) Ow. I'd rather figure compound interest without a computer.
I have to finish wrapping, cook a little, chill a little, and enjoy the children's choir at St. Michael & All Angel's Church this afternoon, and then.... Merry Christmas to all...
Last night we went to my brother's house for dinner. My sister and her daughter share a birthday (December 28), but Johnny will be out of town then, and so he cooked last night. He made a lamb stew with apricot and pine nuts, served over jasmine rice. For dessert, we had a choice of "birthday cake" ice cream cake or Reese's peanut butter ice cream cake. I had a little of each.
He invited another couple, friends from the University. One was the daughter of a rather famous science fiction writer. I am such a pathetic author groupie that I went from having an intelligent conversation with an intelligent woman to blathering and drooling something along the lines of "Oh my god, I don't really read that much science fiction, but I've read that! I LOVED that book." I think I recovered and was able to continue the evening as if I were an intelligent adult, but jeez, I can be a dolt.
Today, I am going to work to print organizers so our previous tax clients can gather their important tax documents. (You mean I was supposed to save the property tax receipt? Again? You wanted that LAST year!) I will buy one or two more gifts, depending on the Christmas fairness fairy's determination. (If a 19 year old living at home buys a gift with his money for a 10 year old brother, does that balance the gift from the 10 year old to the 19 year old bought by the parents, or do the parents need to get another gift for the 10 year old?) Ow. I'd rather figure compound interest without a computer.
I have to finish wrapping, cook a little, chill a little, and enjoy the children's choir at St. Michael & All Angel's Church this afternoon, and then.... Merry Christmas to all...
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Kind hearted lady
From the late 1800s through World War Two, hobos had signs to guide them through towns and country sides. Some let them know the water was bad, others warned of police or unfriendly residents. Some signs told them that the people would help them out. This sign, the cat, told the hobos that a kind-hearted lady lived in the house, and the hobos could expect food and shelter, and maybe a friendly face.We used to joke that this sign was on our house on Harden Street in Columbia. People would walk past all of the other houses and knock on our door. My mother would give them money or food, depending on her assessment of them. One time a man came to the door and told her he was Jesus and he needed a ride to the bank for money. He explained that His Father would provide and all He needed to do was explain to the bank manager. I'm not sure how she determined where his Earthly parents were, but she gave him $20 and drove him to the Greyhound bus station.
Another time a girl had made a poor decision and ridden from Michigan with some friends. The friendship ended somewhere near our house at about 10 o'clock at night. Goodness knows how she found our house. Mom took her in. She called her parents, who wired her money, and mom put her on a bus to Michigan the next day.
She helped lots of people who came by the house. Some were disappointed to realize she remembered them, too. One man came by saying he needed money to get home to Charleston. She gave it to him. He came by the next week with another story. She cussed him out and called his family in Charleston. Sometimes people would ask for money, but she'd fix a sandwich instead. She wasn't opposed to drinking, but she didn't always feel like supplementing other people's bad habits.
My Mom, Marcia Tinkham Duffy, worked as a journalist and a political activist for better mental health, education, civil rights, women's rights, and a better life for all people. She worked on a large scale in her public actions and on a smaller scale in her private actions.
I believe that morality is action. I believe ethics are personal. I believe we can all be heroes.
Monday, December 22, 2008
What I believe
Last week, Dina posted about her beliefs and asked that other bloggers list 10 things they believe and link back. Several others, including Annie have done so already.
I have been thinking about the assignment since before it was assigned. I share many of Dina's belief's and have a similar (in a very general way) religious background to hers.
My parents were (are in my very living father's case) sceptics as far as organized religion. My mother was raised in Massachusetts and attended Methodist and Congregationalist churches. She was an atheist all the time I knew her and I think she perceived a spiritual cynicism from her parents growing up, whether it was fair or not.
My father was raised in a Southern Irish Catholic family. The convergence of these three cultural subsets in unlike any other. I'm not going to say much more right now, but I was only peripherally a part of it. My uncle was a priest in Charleston. I went to St. Peter's in Columbia with two fine priests Fr. Cronin and Fr. Carter (with whom I & all the other girls in the 4th grade were in love in a chaste Catholic girl way).
Dad took us to church, but he would not take communion. I thought it was because he had been married and divorced and had a family in North Charleston he hadn't told us about. I was an imaginative child. I found out that it was because he, too, was an atheist. Or agnostic. Or something.
Our father took us to St. Peter's every Sunday because in South Carolina you go to church. Catholic church is not as good as Baptist church, but it is a church.
A lack of organized religion did not translate to a lack of morals. Both of parents were and are the most solidly moral & ethical people I will ever know. If I wander in a spiritual wasteland it is not because they did not give me a compass. I have a wonderfully sound internal compass that will always lead me to true TRUTH. Mom called it a Bullshit detector, and although I am a very naive person, I have a pretty good BS detector. Go figure?
I think that I can (and probably will) spend at least ten posts on this topic, but I will try to follow directions and make a list of sorts. This is what I believe:
I have been thinking about the assignment since before it was assigned. I share many of Dina's belief's and have a similar (in a very general way) religious background to hers.
My parents were (are in my very living father's case) sceptics as far as organized religion. My mother was raised in Massachusetts and attended Methodist and Congregationalist churches. She was an atheist all the time I knew her and I think she perceived a spiritual cynicism from her parents growing up, whether it was fair or not.
My father was raised in a Southern Irish Catholic family. The convergence of these three cultural subsets in unlike any other. I'm not going to say much more right now, but I was only peripherally a part of it. My uncle was a priest in Charleston. I went to St. Peter's in Columbia with two fine priests Fr. Cronin and Fr. Carter (with whom I & all the other girls in the 4th grade were in love in a chaste Catholic girl way).
Dad took us to church, but he would not take communion. I thought it was because he had been married and divorced and had a family in North Charleston he hadn't told us about. I was an imaginative child. I found out that it was because he, too, was an atheist. Or agnostic. Or something.
Our father took us to St. Peter's every Sunday because in South Carolina you go to church. Catholic church is not as good as Baptist church, but it is a church.
A lack of organized religion did not translate to a lack of morals. Both of parents were and are the most solidly moral & ethical people I will ever know. If I wander in a spiritual wasteland it is not because they did not give me a compass. I have a wonderfully sound internal compass that will always lead me to true TRUTH. Mom called it a Bullshit detector, and although I am a very naive person, I have a pretty good BS detector. Go figure?
I think that I can (and probably will) spend at least ten posts on this topic, but I will try to follow directions and make a list of sorts. This is what I believe:
- I believe in God
- I believe that while the Divine never changes (probably) that human understanding changes over time. Like children, we understand the Divine at our developmental level, in a way that we are ready for. So if religion changes over time, it isn't God that changes, it is our understanding of God that changes. And if morality changes over time, it isn't morality that changes, it is our understanding that changes. The Divine isn't relative, but we are.
- I believe that a person's religious views tell you more about that person than about God.
- I believe that no person should be killed for who he or she loves. And no one should say that that is OK in any way, shape or form, by action or inaction.
- I believe that rights are like love, they are not diminished if more people have them. If you have rights, I don't have fewer. Don't confuse rights with privileges. And don't think your privileges are your rights.
- I believe that all children everywhere should be served by teachers, principals, administrators, school boards, staff members, and legislators who LIKE children, who think they CAN learn, who think they WILL learn, and who believe they will be IMPORTANT members of society.
- I believe that everyone can be a hero. I believe that everyone is a hero in some way to some one.
- I believe that people will rise to the level of your expectations.
- I believe that if I can make myself sick with worry I can make myself well with hope.
- I believe there is a new day coming and we will live to see the dawn.
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