Looking ahead to Christmas: now we can finally celebrate!

So Advent is almost over, but as most of you know the Christmas season really begins on December 25, as we celebrate the Feast of the Nativity. In the pre-commercialized past, traditional celebrations of Christmas really kicked in as everyone celebrated the twelve days of Christmas from Christmas Day to Epiphany on January 6. That's what the song refers to, obviously. That's also what Shakespeare is talking about in his play, Twelfth Night; in his time Twelfth Night, or Epiphany, was a time of revelry, when everything was topsy-turvy -- like the capers and shenanigans of the play.

In my crowd, we try pretty hard to stick to these old ways. The husband and I host a swingin' party on December 26 every year -- traditionally called Boxing Day in England (for reasons that are explained various ways by various sources).  A couple of days later we will all gather at Mr. and Mrs. K.'s home to sing carols and eat fabulous cookies and drink fabulous wine. We will also play The Name Game, which I have also played in its guise as The Colander Game. Either way, I will do well in this game if I am seated next to The Mother. Not that I am competitive, or planning my strategy already . . . .

On New Year's Eve we go to The Mother and her husband (so is he The Father? I don't think so, but I'm not sure why . . . ) for a black tie swanky soiree. Yes -- I said "black tie," and get this: it's so swanky, the invitation says "white tie optional." Boom.

And finally, on January 3, my whole extended clan of beloveds will meet at my sister's house for our family Christmas celebration, along with a rollicking game of "Dirty Santa." The primo gift last year was an ear wax remover, but I've got a few surprises up my sleeve this year; I think I can top that. This will be our last loving look at the Soldier, who will deploy to Korea on January 7. A brand new graduate of West Point and the field artillery school, he will take all, all the prayers with him when he goes -- please add yours to the pile!

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Again with the looking ahead, the Advent book for today is actually a great story to read on December 26 -- the Feast of Saint Stephen. If you know the carol you know that the good king and his servant boy went out into the cold winter night on the Feast of St. Stephen, "when the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even." This little book tells the story of the carol. It's a sweet one!

Role Model

Well, November is here, and as usual it has brought out my melancholy side.  I miss my mom with sharper focus in November, the month of both her birth and her death. But this November in particular, I've been thinking a lot about my fabulous mother-in-law, whose birthday was also in November. I wish you could have known her as well as I did.

She was an excellent grandmother, a breast cancer survivor, a fiercely independent widowed single woman, a terrific friend, the best mother-in-law, and an adventurous soul who was up for anything.

She tap danced. She swam. She shepherded tourists around the Smithsonian as a docent at the National Postal Museum. She read The Washington Post from front to back every single day. She hated to drive, but had the Washington, D.C. bus and subway schedules memorized; she used them as she attended theater productions and baseball games and art exhibits throughout the city. She looked forward to and excelled at the competitive sport of bargain-hunting.

More than this, after her retirement from the U.S. Foreign Service and a career during which she and her husband raised three children -- while stationed in places like Cambodia, Libya, Bangladesh -- she traveled the world all over again. She took cruises throughout Europe, Northern Africa, and Canada. She rode a zip line over the Costa Rican rain forest. She went on a safari in Tanzania -- sleeping in the most glamorous tents I've ever seen. 

And then she was diagnosed with a brain tumor, almost two years ago. She was told she had a "glioblastoma multiforme." Your Google search will give you all the bad news about this kind of tumor. And you've probably been hearing about this particularly shitty brand of cancer in the news recently. 

I want to say so many things. But mostly:

First -- my religion (which was my mother-in-law's  religion too) teaches me that God's ways are not our ways. This is sometimes (but not always) comforting when I consider the ways cancer attacks us. I watched it take control of my own mother, and then of my dear mother-in-law. And to tell you the truth, both times it took control of my life, too. 

But second, this sucky disease gave me a great and good gift, too. My beloved mother-in-law's illness allowed me to take care of her. It allowed me to be with her at her most vulnerable, and it let me take the most intimate care of her. Ultimately, this brave woman let me and her other children be with her as she approached that ultimate journey -- her greatest adventure yet! It's funny -- nineteen years ago, when my own mother went through a similar ordeal with similar grace, my friend Susan said to me, "her suffering is a gift." Which totally pissed me off. Who would want this kind of present?! It certainly has never been on my Christmas wish list. But she was right (as she usually is). I am grateful that I was able to love them in this particular way, in addition to all the other kinds of love I had and have for both of them.

This is a thing I've come to embrace partly because of my religious beliefs -- but I think that my non-religious friends might have experienced a similar gift. I consider myself devout, but I don't think this thankfulness really has to do entirely with faith. It also has to do with our deepest connections to those we love. And, while I have the deepest sympathy for those who think that this is not a death they should have to experience, I look to both of my cherished mothers as my examples and role models. There are many ways to die with dignity.

Finally, as is often my way, I would recommend a book -- for anyone whose family has gone through something like this, or is in the middle of it right now. Shrinkage, by Bryan Bishop, is a wonderful memoir of his (so far) successful battle against an inoperable brain tumor. I first learned of his story through his fiercely wonderful wife's blog, and have cheered him on ever since. He writes with honesty, grit, and humor, and anyone fighting cancer will find inspiration and hope in his story.

. . . because kittens!

So we are floating on a wave of happy around here because kittens!

 

And believe it -- objectively speaking, I could throw some weighty "woe is me" statements around,

but I can't because kittens! 

I mentioned a while ago that some heavy-duty shit has gone down amongst the family et cetera, but: kittens! 

The heavy-duty has stuck around, and it does suck sometimes to be a grownup,

 but I think I'll make it because kittens!

And the sunny girl will definitely tell you:  "Kittens!"

This even though she is contemplating her junior year of high school.  Angst!  Angst!  Oh, wait -- kittens!

So I do know everything is eventually going to be OK.  Because kittens!

Doesn't matter why

So last weekend the fabulous neighbors knocked on the door and instructed us to report for the first cul-de-sac gathering of the season.  Of course we obeyed.  The fire pit was deployed, and everyone brought "a little something" to share.  This was the most last-minute and impromptu of gatherings -- no one (not even Saskia -- Lake Ridge's own Martha Stewart) "made" anything, but we all brought a tasty store-bought something.  The fabulous neighbor gave us all an approving high-five:  "Good job, ladies -- way to keep it casual!"

And then the very next night, we met again at our church:  Trivia Night!  It was another fabulous reason to hang with our besties:  some tasty food (this time we did pull out our "dish to share" cookbooks), a fundraiser for a worthy cause, and a fierce competitive adrenaline rush (fed by $2.00 beer and wine). 

And I will just pause a moment to say that as a table we were pretty freaking smart: nitrogen as a cause of the bends; the crocus-to-saffron transition; memorization of Bible verses; a confident mastery of '90s sitcom and music trivia -- we rocked it, y'all.  We came in second, and immediately had t-shirts made:  "JUST WAIT UNTIL NEXT YEAR, TABLE NINE!"

But the point I want to make here is this:  I don't care about the reason for the gathering.  I just love these people!  How lucky am I?

Voter-palooza!

I was so happy to vote with the tall boy today.  Check out that sticker, people.  The tall boy is very proud -- it's his first one!

Here in Virginia, we had huge turnout everywhere.  On the radio and on Facebook, everyone was talking about how crowded the polling places have been and how long they waited.  My boy and I stood in a long, snaky line for over an hour.  And you know what?  That was fine with me.  It was a privilege to wait with my friends and neighbors (I said "hi!" to my Contractor's husband, the deacon's wife, our County Supervisor -- standing in line with his son, just like I was -- and the realtor who sold us our house).

I was honored to be voting with everyone else in the nation -- including the citizens of Staten Island, who mean it, y'all.

And I will never take the privilege for granted.  We are so lucky to live in this time and this place -- where we call the campaign a battleground, but no one will vote with a gun to his or her head.

Today is a great day to choose a President!

IMAGE CREDIT:
"Staten Island Voters" -- Seth Wenig/AP (2012)

Here's what I love:

 

Well, so this past weekend I packed up the sunny girl and the husband, and took them along with me on a little mini-vacation to Rehoboth Beach, Delaware, to meet up with some of my besties from college.

People, we had a fabulous time!

My friends and I have seen each other only sporadically over the years.  Partly this is because they settled down over there, and he lives way up there, while I came back to my hometown down here.  It's also true that life and stuff happened (as it does to us all), and there were some lean years when the money for a get-away seemed (at the time) to be better spent on rent or the mortgage, and braces for the kids, and dance lessons, and a new car to replace the POS, and college tuition for the urchins, and a new softball bat, and summer camp and medical bills and . . . . You get the picture.

But this year we all turned fifty, and we (by which I mean Allison) decided that to celebrate, we needed to lay eyes on each other in person, and not just on Facebook.

 So Allison is quite the cruise director as it turns out.  She found us the most fabulous house that is the farthest thing from a shack you can imagine, and waved a magic wand so that both her girl and my girl could take the PSAT at a time that didn't ruin our plans, and nudged Terry and me into confirming those plans and packing our bags and actually getting our asses into gear -- all without raising her voice once.

I just love Allison!

Check out this awesome house!

There were the most comfortable, nap-worthy sofas . . . 

. . . including this one that the two teenagers decided was the "best sofa ever" and plotted to sneak into a duffle bag.  I never said they had good spatial relations.

There was a most excellent porch off of the bedroom assigned to the husband and me . . .

. . . and king-sized beds for both of the loving couples in the group.  Dennis and Allison needed a ladder to get into their bed, and worried about nosebleeds all night long -- but tell me the glamour of this room is not worth a nose bleed??

Terry cooked for us in a beautifully appointed kitchen (words like Viking and Sub-Zero can be bandied about here), and provided -- single-handedly -- a meal that included roasted chicken, mushroom risotto, salad with creamy goat cheese, and white chocolate mousse.  For real, y'all.

It did not suck.

We watched old movies (Oklahoma! and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, because we do love the show tunes), and played cards (and Terry just appears to be sweet, but really is a ruthless, Hearts-dominating bastard, which I say lovingly even though I got my ass kicked), and strolled along Rehoboth Avenue . . .

But mostly, we just loved spending time together. 

These are the people who helped me grow up.  We all met on the very first night of Freshman Orientation, in August of 1980, and have been friends ever since.  They have known me at my worst and my best, my silliest and my most earnest, drunk and sober, happy and sad.  And they have loved me all along.

How lucky am I?

Look how nice!

Look at this nice blogging award, which was shared with me by my dear fairy god-sister!  

She's the bomb-dot-com!

Her blog, heidiwriting, is a thoughtful and thought-provoking place, where she shares her journey through a sucky, sucky illness.  She is my fairy god-sister (we were already grown-ups when we attended our parents' wedding), so I am a little biased, I suppose.  But still -- her blog is inspirational!  She tells the truth about chronic pain and shitty diagnoses and doctors who have forgotten their manners, let alone their humanity.  But she also shows such grace, and grit, and gratitude for kindnesses of the small and large variety.  She's a wonder -- and so is her blog.

So as part of her recognition, Heidi has asked me to share with you seven things you should know about me.  So here you go:

1.  I am a sun worshipper.  I know I am not supposed to admit this kind of thing publicly, but call me reckless.  I really do like sitting, reclining, or flat out sprawling in the sunshine with a good trashy book or a magazine.  Yes, yes -- I wear sunscreen (sometimes I even wear a hat).  But you probably won't find me under a canopy or umbrella, even on the hottest days.  I would rather be too hot than too cold, so I'll just drink another bottle of water and stay right there in the sun.

2.  When I was in high school I fell while I was being a goofball at a pep rally, and broke my ankle.  The next day I was maneuvering myself down a short flight of stairs and fell -- breaking the other ankle.  Both mishaps happened at the high school; I was carried out to a car by the same friend both times; the same ER staff received me both times I arrived at the hospital.  And yes -- when they saw me again less than twenty-four hours later, those ER staffers laughed at me.  Hey -- they're only human!

3.  Lisa has been my best, best friend since we were thirteen.  Her oldest son shares a name with my father; my youngest girl is named after her mother.  She has been my sister of the heart and has loved me for so long -- including times when I was not easily lovable.  I am blessed by the fact of her.

4.  I don't have a sweet tooth.  I can walk on by when chocolate chip cookies and ice creams are singing their siren song to so many others.  But don't be a hater, yo -- I am a slave to the potato chip, the hunk of cheese, the well-salted popcorn.  Damn you, savory treats!

5.  My dad was in the military -- and I am so proud to be an Army brat!  I was born on an Air Force base in Germany, and have lived in several towns that begin with the word "Fort."  I wouldn't have it any other way!

6.  I converted to Catholicism in 1996, when I was 33 years old.  Although I had leaned toward the Catholic church for quite some time, my decision was difficult because I loved the church I attended and felt (still feel) a strong sense of family pride in the religion of my childhood; I come from Oklahoma Methodists -- a long line of believers who moved west with the nation, spreading the Gospel across the prairie.  I finally had to let go of my pridefulness (while keeping the pride in my family history) and realize that my spirit is truly home in the Roman church.

7.  I have always loved to sing, and one of the experiences that made high school a joy for me was singing in my school's choirs and drama productions.  I know the words to many, many show tunes, as well as inappropriate Boy Scout songs about boogers, gopher guts, and that great ship Titanic ("uncles and aunts, little children lost their pants . . .").  One of the true joys of my life is to burst into loud song in a public place in such a way that my urchins are humiliated.  It's the small things, people.

Heidi also asks me to tell you about seven other bloggers that I think are the bomb-dot-com.  I am delighted to do so!

1.  7 Layer Studio is a lovely blog that I find both inspirational and exhausting.  Shelley is clever and talented and I think "7 Layers" refers to the fact that she has the energy of seven normal people.

2.  Over at A Working Mother's Chatter, Polly just had a baby, y'all!  Her little girl joins two big brothers to make a perfect family!  Polly is sleep-deprived right now, and catches up on blogs in the middle of the night; since she's in Australia, you can probably say hi to her right now!  Hi, Polly!  Hi, sweet baby Annie!  Polly -- go put your feet up!

3.  This foodie blog, 2783 Miles of Meals, is co-written by a former student of mine, so I take far too much quasi-parental pride in it.  I started following partly to keep up with my student, who is a great guy who has a clever way with words. But (against my will, because I hate to cook) I tried some of the recipes and they're fabulous!  And they're very clearly explained, which is kind to kitchen-phobics like me.

4.  OK, so I couple of years ago I stumbled across a blog called "The Sullivans" that I found so compelling.  As is my way, I blew off my life for way too long and read Sara and Brady's story from the beginning.  And people -- their story is riveting!  Love, laughter, fear, heartbreak, faith -- and a baby!  The story continues at Reflections of Grace.  I encourage you to make use of the archives of this remarkable family's blog and read their beautiful story from the beginning.  Get a tissue!

5.  I read The More, The Messier every chance I get because, people, the woman cracks me up.  I feel like I could have a cup of coffee with her and all we would do is laugh.

6.  Kristen over at No Small Thing writes about all four of her kids so beautifully.  Sometimes her musings are sweet or nostalgic or just fill me with a sense of peace.  But oh, my sweet Aunt Pat!  When she writes about her youngest daughter or about the joys of being a dog owner, I weep -- weep -- with laughter.  My favorite Ella quote:  "Oooh -- my hair is killing me!"

7.  And finally, I suspect that most readers here will have at least heard of Ree Drummond, whose blog, Confessions of a Pioneer Woman, is literally world famous.  With two cookbooks, a memoir (optioned for a movie slated to star Reese Witherspoon) and a Food Network cooking show, the woman hardly needs a plug from the likes of me.  But I include her site as a blog you should read, for several reasons.  First, hers was the first blog I ever read.  Although she was already huge at the time, the tone of her blog was so earthy and real and funny -- I wanted to jump right in and join her.  Second, her blog is an exemplar of "this is how it's done, folks."  Setting aside the immense popularity and ad revenues, look at how she has laid out her space:  it's easy to read (the font is simple and big enough, while the white space gives the page a clean, organized feel); the images are eye-catching and compel her narrative forward; she posts consistently every single day.  This is all Blogging 101 stuff -- and she's a great teacher by example.  Finally, I just love to read her funny stories about life on an Oklahoma cattle ranch!  I admit it -- I have drunk the Pioneer Woman Kool-Aid!

Yes, I'm back from the beach -- but I'm not happy about it.

So I went to the beach for two weeks in July, and I have spent the first part of August moping that I'm not still there.

The generous and loving husband sent me for a week with my besties (no dudes allowed).  Then he and the girl urchins met me, and we stayed for our cherished week with the beloved un-family.

Coming home from the beach means it's time to start getting ready for school.  Blecch.

Let's go back to the beach!

Gradu-palooza -- the girl version!

So the girl in charge graduated from high school last weekend.  

 I feel old.  I ask you -- does this look like the face of someone who is ready to step out into the wide world? 

No?  OK -- how about this?

I know, right?

 [ The festive bow was after the fact, and I say -- too bad.  ]

While the mortarboard hat does make a definite statement, I think the bow shows way more fashion flair.  Call me crazy.

We partied it up for our girl, with balloons and party platters, and grandparents and aunts and godparents. 

My friend Saskia made this beautiful cake, which tasted even better than it looked, and strictly followed the girl in charge's instructions:  chocolate, with a side of chocolate, filled with chocolate and frosted with chocolate.  Please.

The bestie was there to make the day perfect.  It wouldn't be a celebration without her and her mom -- they make any party more fun!

So, yeah!  My girl in charge is already making her lists and organizing her minions as she prepares to leave for Emory University in the fall, but we're not going to talk about that because I can only absorb so many of these  moments when my life swings on a hinge and everything changes.  I don't really understand how parents make it through life without sobbing every day.

But we do.