How to Make Christmas Happy

       Here's the truth.  I would like Christmas a whole lot better these days if we didn't have the gift giving tradition.  Don't get me wrong.  I like the idea of giving gifts.  It's just that it feels as if gift giving has become so hollow.  Maybe it's just my world but gifts don't seem to have the same impact nor satisfaction as they did in the past.


     When the kids were little, it was wonderful to plan the Christmas gift scene.  The whole Santa Claus mystery was a delicious event in which to participate.  To play along with the Santa magic made the season so much fun and so rewarding.  It was gratifying  to imagine their excitement and to wrap gifts and to hide them and to be apart of the Santa story.   I enjoyed making their wishes become reality and their wishes were many and varied.  You couldn't go wrong.  


      But that's the rub.  The kids are grown up now.  It's tough to know what they might like.  I don't trust myself to select from clothing styles and the toys that they like are uber expensive.  I can certainly find books that I imagine they would like but it is all in my imagination.  Besides, neither adult child appears to have much time for old fashioned reading.  Certainly there are little knick knack things out there but how many rings or bracelets does a 24 year old woman need and how many magnets or goofy firemen does a 26 year old guy need?  I could give them cold hard cash but I do that all the time.  Where is the surprise in that?  Where is the sweetness and the personal touch in that?  Ditto gift cards - same thing only different.  So gift giving becomes problematic.  I could just wrap up the practical things:  shampoo, or packages of Trader Joe noodles or maybe a calendar or some kitchen tools.  Whoo hoo. 


      Ditto the husband.  I used to get him shirts and ties but now he never wears them (can you say retired?) and so why bother?  I used to get him food items but I don't want him gaining any more weight so I've nixed that too.  I always get him (us) an Ansel Adams calendar for the kitchen - it's a tradition, for goodness sakes!  Books are a possibility but, like the kids, he is not a big reader of books. Additionally,  just because I might like a book is no reason he will.  I don't trust my instincts on that anymore.  Too many mistakes. He's also the last person I would imagine who wants or needs knick knacks.  He likes office supplies but he stocks up all the time.  GRRRRRRRR

     See what I mean?  I am at a loss and every year it gets worse.  Every year I feel bad becasue I want to participate in the gift giving thing with these three people but it feels like a waste of money.  AND, I know they are looking for something "special" for me too.  Really, if I could pull the rug out from under the gift thing (at least for immediate family), if I could take that expectation away, I would enjoy both the prelude to Christmas and the whole Christmas Day thing a lot more.  Failing that, give me some fresh ideas.  Don't include anything that speaks to gardening, the arts, personal adornment, food, reading material, sports equipment, office supplies, music, car parts, clothing, knick knacks, pets, and on and on and on.  Please.

My Sister Laura

         It was about 1978.  Laura was working at Bob's Big Boy in San Jose - a Friday evening.  I was on my way somewhere but I stopped in to see how she was doing.  As I recall, she had only just started and was nervous about how the evening would go.  I remember seeing Laura - I guess in the kitchen.  The where in the restaurant part of the memory is fuzzy. What is distinctly NOT fuzzy is the memory of how beautiful she looked.  It was an ordinary time and she was working, for goodness sakes!  AND she was stunningly gorgeous.  Dressed in her black skirt and white shirt uniform, she beamed a welcoming smile.  Her  beautiful eyes were shining and that smile was genuine and stunning.  Her hair was long and pulled back in a pony tail and she was the epitome of confident youth.  Though I was not a heck of a lot older than she, I remember being in awe of her youthful beauty. Today, although she may be a little older, she has certainly not lost that beauty.


     The thing about my sister is that she is one of the most genuine people I know. She is grounded, honest, kind, and smart, very smart.   Laura is also very capable.  Her talents and skills are wide ranging and include the logical/mathematical realm as well as the world of words and music.  She can quickly and calmly assess a situation and determine what needs to happen.  If you are in Laura's family you are in luck as she will give you the money she doesn't have to be sure that you have what you need.  She will rearrange her life to be there for you no matter when and what you need. Laura is this remarkably strong woman who has had more than her share of challenges over the past 35 years.  She digs right in and goes forward almost as if she has blinders that will block the obstacles.  She sees what needs to be done and she does it.


     Yes, Laura is a hard worker.  She also makes the most wonderful music to liven up the days.  She has always been a musician.  She would drive me crazy when, as  a little girl, she would pick out tunes on the living room piano.  On the one hand I was envious because she could even do that.  Lord knows, I couldn't.  It also drove me crazy because I got tired of the ping ping pinging of the piano.  But she was drawn to it and it didn't matter.  She took that initial musical talent and turned it into a life long avocation.  She can play a bunch of musical instruments (most recently taking up the ukelele) and has a lovely singing voice.  One year (1982?) she played the lead role in the community theater's production of Oklahoma.  She wowed that audience both with her voice and her beauty.  I know for a while she was the music teacher at the school in Laytonville and those kids were so lucky to have her enthusiasm and energy.  

   Laura is a dedicated mother and, from where I sit, a loyal and loving wife and life partner.  From the time she learned she was pregnant with her daughter Erin Rose, Laura has always put both of her girls first.  The early single parent years with Erin were a tough time for Laura and yet she worked hard and made the best choices for her little family.  Later, when Isabel arrived, Laura was more settled in Ft Bragg with Doug.  I think those years in Ft Bragg were the happiest time for her.  She was in love with Doug, her beautiful daughters gave her great satisfaction, she made a lovely flower garden and she thrived on caring for these three people who were so important to her.   I have been in Laura's home and witnessed the playful affection that gets tossed around so comfortably and warmly.  When Doug was so sick a year ago, Laura couldn't do enough for him.  She literally had to fight the insurance companies and went to bat to be sure he had the best doctors she could locate.

     My sister has been there for me through some very bumpy times in my life.  I know, she is the younger sister but in many ways I think of her as the stronger, more rational, more down to earth one.  I tend to be more philosophical, more emotional, more careless than she is.  Don't get me wrong.  I am diligent and a hard worker in my own world , just not too focused on anything but now.  Laura is a planner and a doer.  She thinks about the future and gets things in place.  Me?  I just try to deal with today.  That's about all I can handle. That's what I mean about Laura being strong.  She can handle whatever comes her way (including me and my life issues....).   We can have a blast together.  Back in the old days, we used to make cookies every time we got together.  But then we decided to pay attention to weight and all that.  No more cookies.  But now we substitute long walks and occasional shopping trips - just for fun!

 Anyway, I just want the world to know that I lean on Laura all the time.  What would I do without her?  I try to give back to her but I don't think I will ever be able to make up for all the times when she has been there for me.  Life is funny, heh?  She , who used to be the mostly annoying much younger sister, now becomes the confidante, the trusted one.  And I look to her for lessons.  Life is indeed odd and surpising

     

Rewards

I am looking for rewards these days but not the kind they attach to credit cards and such things.  If fact, I am in the process of reducing all that stuff.  I canceled two big bank credit cards this morning.  I don't even know how I got them.  They started out as store credit cards and then, at some point, and likely because I was advised that I could get AN ADDITIONAL 20% OFF MY TOTAL BILL  if I changed to a VISA or MasterCard, they became big bank credit cards.  I don't need those things at all.  They only clutter up my life.  Bye bye, bank card.

Except for the Macy's one, I have never subscribed to any of the Rewards programs anyway.  I got into Macy's only because it is the second oldest account I have and because I once worked there.  It is nice every once in a while to get this credit for $25.  I guarantee you I don't make purchases to get the points.  They just cash in from time to time.

Like so many other people, I am interested and inspired by the Occupy Wall Street movement.  There is so much I don't know or understand but so much that I want to know and understand.  For example, as pitiful as this sounds, I will admit that I never even thought about the big banks and how they take advantage of the working people.  I just didn't know anything other than that my paycheck goes to Bank of the West and I have a debit card from there.  The automatic deposit is convenient and the debit card can be handy.  End of awareness.

And now my eyes are open.  Imagine my incredulousness when I realized that my folksy so called neighborhood bank with the all  American name of Bank of the West is actually headquartered in Paris, France.  They are a huge band and they take my Sonoma County dollars and use that to get themselves the best return.  Maybe it will go towards  a hotel construction project in Dubai or a manufacturing plant in China but it's likely NOT going to be sweat equity home project in Santa Rosa or a small business loan to a solar company in Sebastopol.  I feel really stupid not knowing this and I wonder how many other things I don't know.  I will move my (very limited) money out of Bank of the West as soon as is practical.

An intriguing offshoot of this process has been my own rededication to reduce/reuse/recycle.  I am loving the concept again of reduce.  I have never been a big consumer but I am looking around and thinking I can do better in this department.  I can stop and reconsider the purchase of yet another sweater or pair of boots (NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!   - but ..... yes).  I don't want to fuel the production of more things, fuel the waste of more resources.  I have been on this train since college for sure and I am all about recycling and riding my bike or walking places.  I love that I live three blocks from work and that Oskar can sometimes sit alone in the garage for two or three weeks without his steering wheel being gripped by my hands.  But I can say stop to the purchase of more luxuries.

Truth is, I will never stop buying reading materials and likely not art supplies.  I will always be interested and open to technology innovations.  I will buy dinners out and bottles of wine and good fresh produce and breads.  But more jewelry?  more jeans?  more BOOTS????  Not so much.  Not never but not so much.

I will get into the rewards plan that gives me less stuff to take care of.  I will enjoy the reward that comes with NOT buying something.  I will consider how I can use my paycheck to make a difference in the world and maybe buy myself some knowledge and experiences.  All good rewards, don't you agree?

Lost and Found

      Ironically to me I am responsible for the Lost and Found department at school.  I never understood how that factored into the job description for school counselor but more recently I have come to some realizations about that.  Every week I put out all the Found jackets, sweatshirts, sweaters, hats, shoes (really?  shoes?  yes, really shoes) and other things that turn up.  I get on the intercom and remind the kids that the Lost and Found is on display and I make up some number like 389 as in, "Seriously, kids, there are 389 items hanging on the rail.  Go see if any of them is yours."  Invariably, some child will inform me later in the day that there are NOT 389 items and I simply say, "Not anymore."

      The thing about Lost and Found is that much of my work is about loss and discovery.  Kids come to me when they are hurting.  Many times they are hurting because they have lost something:  a friendship, their confidence, their interest in school, a beloved grandparent, pet or something special, their connection with a parent, their innocence (only they don't know that last one - it's my take on their sadness).  I can sit with them and listen and I actually do that well.  There is something so very compelling to me when I am one on one with a child who is hurting.  I am NOT a therapist.  I do have some access to therapeutic skills and strategies but I get lost myself in that process with a child.  I don't want to harm them by pretending I know more than I do and I do know when I need to set them up with a professional therapist.  But I certainly can listen to them, accept them where they are in that moment, offer a safe place for them to put their fears and their loss out on the table, and go from there.  Sometimes that in itself is enough.  A child leaves the office walking just a little lighter, having been heard. He or she is now comfortable in the discovery that there is a place where they can put those sad thoughts down.

      Being lost is a tough place to be.  I know from my own world.  Where I am in life now (another way of saying "at my age") I think I should have it [life] all figured out.  I don't.  The path is still
very unclear.  There were years when the road was direct.  In fact, I would say it was a freeway.  Prior to becoming a parent , the road was somewhat windy but it was the scenic route.  I knew where I was headed and I was okay with the well paved road that meandered up and down relatively gentle hills.  Yes, there was an occasional steep hill or pothole around which to maneuver but all in all, the signs pointed the way and the road was smooth.  Parenthood brought the freeway.  It was fast, it was straight, it had lots of onramps and offramps and some major interchanges.  At times the traffic was heavy and irritating.  At other times, it was actually quite peaceful and an enjoyable ride. There were tons of directional signs and even some cool billboards.

      But kids grow up and now the road signs have disappeared.  In fact, the road itself has disappeared.  How odd is that?  When I first really realized this (just a few weeks ago) I was flummoxed.  How could this be?  How did the road disappear?  I was also lonely out there in that field - high grass everywhere, a visible blue horizon, and me, paralyzed in fear.  WTF?  Who took my road?  How do I know where I am or, more importantly, how do I know how to get where I am going?  And, by the way, where AM I going?   The question is:  Do I start moving around in search of a road or, at least, some signs?  Or do I do as we've always told small kids to do:  just stay in one place and wait to be found?

How I Came to Hate Halloween

Okay, so maybe hate is too strong a word but I am not a fan of Halloween.  I think I have a great sense of whimsy and a decent aptitude for play.  After all, I 'm the one who names all the inanimate objects in my life - Wilson (iphone), MacHenry (MacBookPro), Oskar (my silver bug), Sammy (my bike) and on and on and on.  So hear me on this:  I am not afraid of whimsy, I am not too stuffy to dress up.  I am, however, too busy or, more accurately, not interested enough to deal with this festival of costumes.

I view Halloween as a kids's day - a day for kids to put on their fantasies and play to them.  As an adult, my fantasies aren't camouflaged in costumes.  My fantasies involve time alone and/or time with good friends. I don't want to have to pretend to be a witch or a lego or an 80's aerobic instructor.  I just wanna be me.  I don't want to spend ANY time looking for a suitable costume.  I don't care about it.

Additionally  think Halloween is yet another example of a cool little thing gone way over the top.  Trick or treating in your immediate neighborhood for a half an hour or so is great.  It was fun as a kid to go to the homes of the neighbors and let them comment on your costume.  But when kids come back to their homes after canvassing the town for two or three hours and they have  pillowcases of poison, that's just plain wrong.  I used to feel as if Halloween belongs to little kids only and 12 was about the cut off age.  I must admit that I have changed my mind about that and I think trick or treating is fine for older kids - IF they do their part and wear a costume.  I never bother to make a comment though if a kid didn't wear a costume.  I just think what a loser that kid is.

Perhaps the key word here is simplicity.  If Halloween could have stayed just a one night thing (or even just a one week thing) for kids, I might have continued to enjoy it.  Perhaps it is my cynicism operating but I am keenly aware of the marketing behind Halloween (and Christmas and Valentine's Day and Mother's Day and all the rest).  I hate feeling manipulated into buying bags of poison to hand out to anyone coming to the door.  I hate being manipulated into wearing a costume and pretending this is all very cool.  I DO enjoy little kids living out their imaginations and pretending to be something new - how fun!  I DO like a little infusion of fall colors here and there.  I just don't want to be pushed into the whole charade.

Hello, Fall

Hello, Fall, 

     I know you think I favor the other seasons over you and you have good reason to believe that.  When I was a way little kid, I liked the fall because it meant Halloween and that was one of those wild and mysterious kinds of days.  But I outgrew Halloween and, in fact, grew tired of Halloween by the time I was 13.  Didn't like the costumes, didn't go for the candy, and didn't like the spookiness.  There was no reason to like you.  Sorry, but it is the truth.

      Through my twenties, your appearance  just meant school starting and the days getting shorter.  This wasn't a big deal because I was fairly oblivious to things like the light and the shortened days back then.  I was too wrapped up in college life and post college life and boyfriends and dealing with all that garbage.  When Alex and Meg were little kids I could get into the Halloween thing with and for them but, again, that didn't last.  Then my father died in mid October and that kinda squelched October all together. Now he's the first thing I think about when October comes around.  And you and October are synonymous in my book.

      When you come to town, the air always feels electrified and not in a good way.  Too often you cause electrical tension and shocking stuff.  I don't like it when you do that.  The late afternoon sun shines at a slant and the brightness can be blinding.  It makes me squint and feel tense and irritated (especially if I have to drive at that time).
Sadly, you scare away the summer light and the the days grow as tired as I am and they shut down earlier and earlier.

    But over the last five to eight years, I have come to appreciate your brilliant color.  I must say that I never gave you sufficient appreciation for the beauty that is you.  I know that when I ride my bike these days, I can completely freeze in order to hold an image in my head.  I can stop that bike and just stare at the blend of brilliant colors in front of me.  I watch the trees at school every day and loudly and daily proclaim your beauty to anyone who can hear.  I see you.  I see your brilliance.  I know now that I was not alive enough before to catch that.  I am alive now.

    I do hope you will forgive me for not seeing you earlier but that's what time can do to a person.  As I let other things resolve, as I stop caring so much about the things that don't really matter, I can open my eyes to the light and the beauty around me.  Not just in the trees and the sky that you wear but, if I am really alive and unencumbered, I can see your beauty in the faces of the kids at Halloween or the couples walking in the park.  I can see your beauty in friends and feel your beauty in the warmth that comes with your late year sunshine.

      Will you forgive me for taking so long to see you?  I know how I feel when I believe I am invisible to someone.  You are not invisible to me anymore.  Here's to sweet fall days, luscious in color and holding the promise of change and anticipation.

      When you leave town, I will sigh at your departure.  But, when you come back next year, perhaps I will have learned to embrace the darkness that is your traveling companion.  Surprises do happen, you know.

Love,
Dollywog

Too Much Work Blues

Damn phone rings all day
'rents want my time
their kids cry salt tears
I got the too much work blues.

The schedule says build me
web page is weak
report cards to process
I got the too much work blues

E-mails to answer
mysteries to solve
kids to console
and me with the blues

Doors to unlock
staff to appease
plans to write
and me with the blues

I got all the F-ing work I need
so he says in the song
lordy, I hear you
I got the too much work  blues


(inspired by Mark and fueled by a Monday)

Robert Paul O'Neill

My father died fifteen years ago this week.  He leaned towards silence, but his voice was powerful and heard by all his children, myself included.  Even as a child, I was saddened by what I knew about my dad's early life.  I knew he grew up in great poverty in Detroit, Michigan.  I knew one of his brothers died in infancy.  Although he was an intelligent person and a curious autodidact, I knew he hated the rough Catholic schools which he attended as a boy.  I knew that he left school during the Great Depression to sell newspapers and do whatever work he could get in order to help put food on the table for his family. Hardest of all for me was that I knew he  HAD TO GO FIGHT A WAR far away.  To top it off, when he got back from the war, he had to go to work everyday at a job he appeared to hate in a place that was too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter.  I hated  that he only had two or three weeks off in a whole year.   I always felt as if he got a bum deal in life.

I carried all these sad feelings around about my dad.  As a kid, I lived with the repercussions of his early life  but I never blamed him for stuff.  I know now that he and my mother did the best they could with  the parenting tools they had.  If you look at most definitions of parental success (are the children healthy? are they responsible citizens?  are they compassionate and contributing members of society?) then surely you would say that my parents were successful at their parenting.  All nine of their children meet and, yes, exceed those criteria.   As an adult, however, I am saddened by the distance that was part of their style (at least from my perspective) but it wasn't intentional.  It was what they knew.

I was scared of Papa until I moved far away and found my own life.  When I was growing up, there were long periods of time when he would arrive  home from work and a black cloud would descend on our home.  There would be tiptoeing around and unease everywhere.  Dinner would be silent except when he barked orders (SALT!) or when he rejected something (I can still remember him shoving pork chops that were too done or not done enough or something out of his way - and I felt for my mother who had made the dinner - why did he have to be so mean about it was my thought).  He would silently and brutally retire to the living room to sleep his evening away while the tv blared on.  I was often scared of him and often overwhelmed with sadness in his presence.  I couldn't let go of the fact that he had a rough life and that I couldn't do anything about it.  In my world, I didn't think he could do anything about it either.

 And I remember his raging.  HIs yelling and throwing things around.... and one Saturday morning in probably 1969 or 1970, he said in my hearing that he wanted a gun.  If he had a gun he would shoot himself.  I was scared and I was incredibly sad.  I suspect I felt guilty too - as if we (the kids) were part of the problem.  In retrospect, I don't really think we were part of the problem.  He had wanted a large family, he was always happy about a new baby, he was proud of his brood (though he never said that), but, of course, he had to support them.  I think the changing world was why he raged on that particular Saturday.  I also think the hardships of his life, combined with family patterns and perhaps a genetic predisposition, allowed him to turn to booze (his term) to find some peace.

I believe that  the cultural changes that shifted his universe beginning in the 1960's really rocked his life.  I am sure the Kennedy assassination shocked him but, there were also changes afoot in the Catholic Church.  The Catholic Church had offered stability to him through all the dark times of his life and now Mass was being said partially in English. Later in the decade, people would be shaking hands as part of the holy Mass and his familiar Latin hymns and chants would disappear.  The anti war movement must have been hard for this war veteran - though I never knew where he stood on the Vietnam War.  He was a real Democrat - a salt of the Earth kind of guy - but all the protests must have been unsettling.  I know he strongly supported the Civil Rights movement.  He spoke highly of Martin Luther King, Jr prior to his assassination.  I remember the evening of that assassination and my dad was very clear to us that the world had lost a powerful and important leader. I think the feminist movement confused him.  It took away the basic framework for his life.  It put family on the back burner and he was all about family.  Beyond all this, I think he felt disconnected from his kids.  Things weren't going the way he thought they would.  His kids weren't getting married and having grandchildren.  Bigger than that, his kids weren't going to church.  Eventually, he worked his way through that disenchantment and, eventually, he did get to meet grandchildren.  In a rare moment of self disclosure, he once told me that his biggest disappointment in life was that most of his kids did not go to church.  Even though he acknowledged that, he was able to accept his children and their decisions, even if he didn't approve or understand.

There was something so gentle about that man and yet he had the toughest walls ever.  He was remarkably generous with both his limited money and his time.  He was a man of deep compassion and I can cite numerous examples of his quiet generosity.  He could be warm and friendly but he was never one to have a wide collection of friends.  His family of origin and my mother's family of origin supplied his core group of friends and the church community rounded that group out.  I think his days as a medic in the South Pacific must have forever affected his ability to make friends.  After all, having to literally pick up the pieces of the body that was once your friend cannot inspire more friendships.  

He was a tender man too - I wish I had seen more of that.  I remember fondly the Christmas  I was five and I got a book of storybook tales.  He sat on that bench in the kitchen while the turkey was cooking and he read me Dick Wittington and His Cat.  He clearly enjoyed that and I felt happy to be with him.  There were times when he would go to the hardware store and I remember going with him.  Mark and I would tag along.  Why?  There was nothing of interest to me at the hardware store. Maybe I was bored? I think  it was just about being with him. I remember there were three times when he took me - and me alone - to the drive in movies with him.  I suspect he just wanted to see the movie and he wanted company and Pauline couldn't or wouldn't go - we saw Cat Ballou together and Ship of Fools (which was way too sophisticated for me).  The creme de creme, was when he took me to see Gone With The WInd.  I remember that I really really really wanted to see it after I read the book for the first time.  It had recently been re-released but I didn't drive and I couldn't get there by myself.  He knew I wanted to go and so he took me.  There was also this Father / Daugher dance the year I was a sophomore in high school -- I think his friend Carmen Cavezza - whose daughter went to my high school - asked him if he was going and , by golly, he decided he wanted to go.  I had the nicest time with him.  But then he would go back to being pissy and mean.  Sad.

He was largely a self educated man.  As noted above, the 1930's rough Catholic schools in Detroit did not work for him and after the war, he went back to night school to get his high school diploma.  He was never able to go further with formal education but he was reading all the time and he devoured information.  We subscribed to two daily newspapers and he would watch a blend of informational and entertainment tv programs.   On the nights when he was talking at dinner time, he would go around the table and ask us, "What did you learn in school today?"  It was clear that education mattered to him and that he was an intelligent and reflective man.  He was also creative and his creativity found the most wonderful outlets.  He was into telescopes for awhile, for example, and worked at creating one of those.  He got into tile work and created a number of beautiful tile tables.  He was a brick layer and a builder and always had a project going (building trailers, boats, barbecues, and houses, for example).  He was a jack of all trades and master of many.  He earned his salary as a welder and that required skill and creativity but his life is replete with examples of his creative nature.

He was the first person in the family that I told about my first husband and me splitting up.  Years later I heard from my mother  that she was very hurt by that - that I told him before I told her.  But he ASKED me.  He brought it up,  There was also a time in the Safeway in Willits - just Robert and I were there.  I don't know why it was just us  but he asked about Ken ( a long term boyfriend).  When I told him we had broken up, he actually got this sweet smile on his face and said, "there are plenty of fish in the sea".   I know he liked Ken but he was also being supportive of me. The one and only time he ever told me he loved me - actually spoke those words - was the Christmas that I brought Michael to Bell Springs for the first time.  He seemed really happy that year.  As I recall, a lot of us were up there and I was laying out the bedding on the floor. He was not drunk, I remember that and he was also getting ready to retire to his bedroom.  He came up to me and put his arm around me, checking in about our accommodations for the night , and ended with those three words "I love you".  Powerful and unforgettable for me.

What kind of a connection did I really have with him though?  Obviously not one of conversation but more one linked by similar temperaments and family ties.  I  wish I knew more about him.  I wish he would have talked more.  I have a few letters that he sent me over the years and a few pieces of his poetry.  I think he hid well.  I do believe I have a lot of my father in me.  As noted, I have a tendency to build walls. I also live with compassion and tenderness.  I can turn to alcohol when I want to go underground, when the world feels like too much.  I am a political liberal who favors the underdog and who wants to spread out the wealth.  I am always eager to learn new things and am never without reading material.  I do not go to church and I do not value the Catholic Church as it has come to be but I do value the core teachings of the great religions and I do find my self in the dark and light of spirituality.  I somewhat doubt that my father knew how much he had really given his children.  I don't know that he wanted to ask and I didn't know then exactly what I had gotten from him.  I know now that my father's influence can be found in my own children and so he lives today.  I know that as long as I live I will still look to his life for guidance and that says a lot. I will toast him today as we remember his last day on Earth and I will wonder what lessons I still have to learn from him.

Owning a LIfe

      The notion of choice has been weaving through my thoughts all weekend.  I recognize that a person really does choose many things in life.  People don't choose their  families of origin and they can't choose many aspects of childhood.  Once, however,  they reached physical maturity  say, age 18, the choices they make become their life.

     The thing about choices is that you have to keep making them. You have to realize you are doing that.  Your decision making must be intentional.  I suspect many lives end being dismally empty or mediocre.  The owners of those lives may well feel as if they didn't have choices along the way (ie, I had to have a job, I had to stay married, I had to buy a house, etc). The real truth is that they did have choices but they didn't recognize the choices at the time.  Or, perhaps they initially saw the choice (I am choosing to work at this occupation) but then fell into the clutches of security and routine (I can't leave this job; I need the paycheck or I am too ________  to try something new - you fill in the blank).  

      I maintain that it takes courage to see life as choices.  It means that you are owning your own life.  It means that you understand that if you are carried away into mediocrity or living a life that is less than you want it to be, then it is your choice.  I can appreciate  that  security, and, grandest of all obstacles, cowardice, can lead to a life of mediocrity and bitterness.  Mediocrity and bitterness are by products of  choices made, even if the choices are made under duress or somewhat unconsciously.  Life will be a disappointment unless you think about everything you do, unless you make every choice the best one you know how to make.

Unexpected Intrusions

Unexpected intrusions of beauty. That is what life is.

                                            HERZOG, SAUL BELLOW

Alternatively,

An adventure that started without your input.

A basket overflowing with fruits and nuts.

An ocean spilling waves on your feet.

Cool shoes that can also hurt your feet sometimes.

A small fire that grows hot and powerful and cools to ashes.

Babies, criminals, queens, brokers, bartenders, cowboys, bitches.

White hot passionate kisses that close with a sigh.

Red sharp rage slashing away wisdom and reflection.

Baby toes and walkers, freckles welcoming wrinkles.

Killing, kindness, cartwheels , wailing, wishing, why.

Daffodils, daydreams, destiny, despair.

That is what life is.