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!

I choose hope.

I don't know who created this artwork, which has been traveling around on Facebook for the past couple of days.  But I totally affirm its message.  I do know that the world is full of good people.  I am lucky enough to feel surrounded by them every day.  So during times like these, I choose to look to the Light.  I choose hope.

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And as we prepare for Christmas, that's the core of what we are all preparing for. So today I chose this beautiful book to share with you during our Advent -- our time of preparation. The First Christmas uses the Nativity stories from the Gospels according to St. Luke and St. Matthew as its text, drawing from the gorgeous language of the King James translation.  The artwork really helps you focus on the interplay of light and dark, with intricate silhouette designs and silvery inks.  It's a lovely book to read as we ready ourselves for the birth of the Light of the World.

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)

"I like astronauts because they are heroes."

So yesterday I had the day off, and I spent the morning watching the NASA live feed of the national memorial service for Neil Armstrong.

Those who know this family, and especially those of you who know the tall boy, know that we have been a little melancholy ever since we learned that Mr. Armstrong had died.  It is a true fact that I heard about it on the radio as I was returning from Atlanta after dropping off the girl in charge at Emory University -- and I immediately texted my boy and told him how sorry I was (am). 

Because, see -- the tall boy has loved Neil Armstrong since he found out who the great man was.  This is a letter my boy wrote to his hero when the tall boy was five years old.  He had a little help with the typing.  (NASA's Public Affairs office helped Mr. Armstrong answer his mail, and some kind soul there returned the tall boy's letter, along with a reply packet that included photographs of the crews of Apollo 11 and 13 as well as some totally cool posters.)

Since then we have visited the Kennedy Space Center at Cape Canaveral, trekked to the Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum I don't even want to know how many times, tracked down movies and books and plays . . . .  And that was while the boy was still small enough that he had to rely on us to help him feed his space addiction.  This book, I Want to Be An Astronaut, was a gift from his first grade teacher.

These days, my tall boy is somewhat self-sufficient when it comes to sucking down any information about the space program he can inhale from the internet.  So when I check in with him on Facebook, I can be sure that I will be reading some excellent article about the merits and "freaking awesomeness" of the Mars rover Curiosity, or about a newly discovered pair of white dwarf stars -- and of course anything -- anything -- about the Apollo astronauts.

Another true fact is that immediately upon moving into his brand spanking new bedroom after our basement renovation, the tall boy put up one poster.  Just one.

As you can see from his Facebook post from August 25, the day Mr. Armstrong died, my boy can speak most eloquently about his hero himself:

Events such as this prove the inadequacy of Facebook to convey real, complex emotion. What is there to say? The man was my hero, my idol - he lived my dream. I read about him, I wrote him, I wanted - still do - to be him. The man who was our first civilian astronaut took our dream of reaching the stars and turned it into a stepping stone. The world is a cheaper place for his passing.

For those who labour . . .

Thanks again, Rachel!

Introducing . . . the small boys!

 So we spent last week at the beach in wonderful Nag's Head, North Carolina.  This annual family get-together is a trip we look forward to for the entire year.  Sometimes we have a full contingent of cousins, aunts, grandfathers, uncles and grandmothers.  Other times a cousin or two has work obligations; last year the tall boy was unable to make the trip, but we were happy that the not-so-tall boy (the soldier's West Point pal) was able to take his place.  This year, although my sister's three oldest urchins all had obligations that kept them away, we were thrilled that SHE was able to be part of our shenanigans for at least part of the week.  Uncle Doctor does his best to stay out of the on-call rotation so he can join us (the nerve of some women!  Daring to go into labor while Uncle Doctor is trying to log jet ski hours!).  My fairy god-sister is always up for a week at the beach, and so are Carolyn and her husband the preacher.

And this year, the newest cousins joined us!  You've met the tall boys -- so now:  meet the small boys!  These pumpkin pies are my sister's new sons!  She and the preacher are in the process of adopting them, and how swell is that?!

 

 

Lucky small boys!  Lucky mom and dad!  Lucky family!

God is good!

Guess who came home last night?!

Clue #1: his family has been missing him for a long time.

Clue #2: His Giants pulled it off
just as he arrived at the airport --
a welcome home gift!

Clue #3: He makes us all proud to be Americans!

Clue #3: He and the missus love them some Proseco!

Clue #4: We turned our Christmas lights
back on in his his honor!

Look who it is!
We're so glad to have him back!

Remembrance Day

Everybody is home from school today, since it is Veterans' Day in the United States. When I was growing up, my dad (a Vietnam veteran himself) liked to remind me that its original name was Armistice Day. He is a history buff, and never has forgotten that the day originates with the Armistice that ended World War I ("at the 11th hour, on the 11th day, of the 11th month").

But I really like the name for this day used by so many of our Commonwealth nation friends -- I feel like "Remembrance Day" sums up what we should be doing today -- remembering and honoring the fact that there are people who are willing to go to war for us.

Around here we are specifically lifting up one veteran in particular -- currently deployed to Afghanistan -- and are so grateful to him for his fierce love of our country. We miss him just about all of the time on our happy little cul-de-sac. He is the cruise director of all of our neighborhood bashes -- they just aren't the same without him. And on weekend mornings we miss him stopping by for a cup of coffee while he's out raking leaves. He even has his own mug stashed in our cupboard!

This year the husband and the fabulous neighbor will miss their annual date to the Redskins v. Giants game for the first time in I don't know how many years; this would be sad except for the fact that the Redskins suck so bad this year that the husband is frankly relieved to skip the humiliation. We will miss our friend at Thanksgiving, but it will be fabulous to have his family at our feast.

The good news is he will be home soon -- and as always, his mug of coffee will be here waiting for him.

We interrupt this Friday morning . . .

See the tall boy. See the tall, tall boy. See the tall boy wearing a patriotic tie. The tall boy is off to work. Go, cranky not-a-morning-person tall boy, go!

See the bus. Look at the big, big bus. The bus will take the tall boy to the Pentagon. The tall boy is happy because he will sleep on the bus. Go, bus, go!

Look at the Pentagon. The Pentagon is a big, big building. The Pentagon is battle-scarred but strong. No al Qaeda bad guys can keep this Pentagon from re-building itself even stronger. Go, Pentagon, go! The tall boy will get on a train at the Pentagon. He will go under the ground. He will sleep on the train. Sleep, cranky tall boy, sleep!

See the police officers. "Good morning, officer! Thank you for protecting us here in the nation's capital! Thank you for keeping my tall boy safe!"

Oh! Oh! What has happened? Why has the tall boy's bus stopped in the middle of the busy, busy highway? How will the tall boy get to work on time? Look! Look! A douchebag has left a scary backpack. The scary backpack makes the police officers sad. They must stop all the cars and buses and workers. Bad, bad douchebag!
Finally the tall boy is happy. The bus can move again. Soon he will ride the train. The tall boy will ride the train, but only after the sniffer dog at the Pentagon makes sure that the tall boy is not a douchebag. Good sniffer dog! Thank you for not biting my tall boy!

Thank you, police officers! Thank you, soldiers and marines and sailors and airmen! Thank you, sniffer dogs! Thank you for keeping us safe. Thank you for making us late for work but not in trouble for it because our bosses were late too. Thank you, thank you!

But not you, douchebag.

Intrepid reporter -- until I ran from the scene

So the drama around here last Saturday was pretty dramatic; our part of the world seemed to burst into flames in every direction all at the same time. Dry, dry air and high, high winds combined to create a day just ripe for combustion. Pals from California or western Canada might laugh and say, "how quaint!" But fire fighters throughout the Washington D.C. area were working it all day long.

Well, I shock myself that I took these pictures: I am never on the scene when drama occurs, or if I am, the drama is occurring to me or to one of the urchins -- so photographing the historic events is usually the last thing on my mind.

tangent: When the sunny girl was born we had to borrow a disposable camera from the midwife who helped her into the world, because by the third child we were not so much about checking and re-checking the "Baby Being Born" hospital bag to make sure we had everything. So: camera -- yes; batteries -- not so much.

But I took the sunny girl and a pal to the movies, and we drove into smoky air that was thick enough that I turned on my headlights and the sunny girl reached for her inhaler. After I dropped the two girls off at the mega-cineplex-o-rama, I decided to check out the source of the smoke.

Plumes rose from a wooded area right behind my beloved Borders Books. I kept thinking, "How hard would it blow to be one of the stores that escaped the corporate bankruptcy axe, only to see one's entire inventory go up in flames?"

tangent: Pipe down, book lovers -- Borders is all right by me. Yes, yes -- we should all support our local independent booksellers. They support the new, the quirky, the overlooked. But you know what? So does my Borders. And I can tell you right now -- there ain't no independent booksellers in Prince William County, Virginia; if Borders goes, we are SOL. Virginians all know that stands for "Standards Of Learning."

OK, so the fire caused businesses up and down the suburban strip malls to evacuate, as it spread north and east through a large wooded area. These woods are bordered by things like a Home Depot, the Department of Motor Vehicles, Best Buy, and -- scary -- an animal hospital. All evacuated their customers (and patients).

As always, the firefighters walked forward to fight the blazes (and yes, I do mean blazes; these brush fires were everywhere) while everyone else fled. As I took these pictures I was shocked at how quickly I stopped needing the telephoto feature on my camera as the fire raced through the woods towards my vantage point; I kept thinking, I should not be here . . . I am where I should not be . . . this is really, really stupid . . . . I am not Christiane Amanpour -- or even Brenda Starr . . . . I need to go now . . . . And the firefighters geared up, and did what they had to do, and stopped my town from burning.