On The Eve

I stand on the precipice of Christmas, and I can't help feeling this next step is a tumble and a trip rather than a forward leap. My faith teaches me to march forward, down a certain path, towards an end that awaits me with open arms. That path was first walked by Jesus, the living son of God, whose birth we mark with this holiday. I know my path, just like His on Earth, is not always clear, the march not always easy, and the end not always in sight. I'm with all that - dig it - I can handle that part.

My real worry is this: I'm not entirely convinced that I've headed down the right path - and now I'm now dragging my children along on this path. What if I mangled the whole path thing and now I'm skidding off to some forsaken end with no open arms and no chocolate? Ack!

If my faith is correct, this is just a test. I put my head down, fortify my soul with a good dose of prayer, and barrel on. On the other hand, if my faith is correct this could be a sign! And if I miss it I'm like the guy in the joke - the one where he's standing on his roof waiting for God to save him from a flood so he turns down an offer from a boat passing by, a helicopter rescue, and so on. When he gets to heaven he demands to know why God did not save him and God tells him -
'Wha'd you want me to do? I sent a boat, a helicopter, and you wouldn't allow yourself to be saved!' (In all my interpretations, God's a real comedian - I just have to believe that.)

What to think, what to do? Continue this life of mediocre 'success', building a little bit of goodness at a time, finding value and purpose in the few lives I touch, shrinking away from chances to do more on the possibility I might fail?

Or stop in my tracks? Find a need in the world and fill it? Really follow Jesus' path and risk every single thing in order to do some greater good? I'm chicken. I'm a total coward. I'm not sure I have the strength of character to do things like tell my kids we won't have gifts on holidays like these because we're off to Salvador to feed starving children and the real gifts for us are already here - good health, good humor, time together - so precious because we never really know when it all ends. But I'm chicken. And I like getting new slippers! Does that make me a total stinker?

I suppose it does when I know for sure that $48 could buy a desk for a child in an African school. I just saw that on the news last night.

So I'm literally lolling back and forth like a weeble wobble and I can't seem to reconcile and center myself.

But as I'm writing this I'm thinking that the whole thing is really much simpler than all this. A step back - maybe a few - and I can see that what Christmas offers me - what Jesus' life teaches me - is not the answer, but the possibility. And what I offer Christmas - what I offer God - is the genuine desire to take that chance to do more, be more, follow more closely in His steps down whatever path until I reach my rightful end - whatever that may be.

I may not get the whole thing figured out right now and that's o.k., because tomorrow I am reminded that the birth - the beginning - allows me a new beginning as well. And maybe each beginning brings me closer to the right place for me, the place where my abilities and my faith and my life all meet and matter.

So I stand on the precipice of this Christmas and I can't help feeling that my tumble forward is no accident, and not a pre-ordained step, but a choice. I choose this life and this path, flawed as it may be, with all my doubts and worries progressing along with me, firm in my belief that a faithful soul will find its way home, and so thankful for Christ's birth, because it offers me a chance, a hope for renewal and redemption and life beyond life.

Merry Christmas to you, and may God bless you and keep you always.

I Hate That

As a public service and in case the post's title didn't clue you in, this is not one of my happy, warm 'n fuzzies. You are warned.

My holiday cards stunk this year. I've had a couple of good years back-to-back so the pressure was really on this year and I just epic-failed, like a slow-mow-bike-over-curb with kid-flying-over-handle-bar action thrown in to boot. I'm hoping most people won't realize it sucked because I put some extra distracting pictures of the kids on the front of the card, but chances are those who really know me will know. And I know. I hate that.

Produce shopping during the holidays should be video-taped and aired on late night t.v. as a blood sport. In the meantime, as far as I'm concerned if you're so old that you need to be bused to the store to shop with an attendant, you should be too old to ram me - intentionally - with your cart. So don't look surprised when I take your 4'2" self right to the holey-rubber mat with my own cart, sister. Two can play at that game and only one of us can win. You might want to gear up.

Speaking of - I've said it before and I'll say it again: dollar store sales clerks should receive combat pay for working the end-of-year holidays. These poor souls are so abused and hellishly overworked, they trade food breaks for cigarettes and Mountain Dew out of sheer necessity, and at mine in particular, they put up with me so many times a week I feel I should be paying rent. Of course, if I could afford that, I'd not be shopping at a dollar store, now would I?

So, as a giveaway, you'll note that I've been shopping. Ooooohhhh... spending? Garishly? Wantonly? Yes, for Pete's sake, yes! The 'holidays are too commercial nowadays' comment as a way of looking down one's nose at someone who's clearly in the throes has become so damn tired it should be comatose. I hate it! Buying gifts for people you love is not commercial, it's just nice. I've done all the modesty-adjustments I can, some re-worked things, home-made things, inexpensive things. But I'm still getting some stuff and that's it. I view it as an extension of kindness, a thoughtfulness, a gesture of acceptance and appreciation that - to me - is entirely in the spirit of the season. I'm not apologizing for it and I'm not feeling bad about it. Mostly.

Except in weak moments when I reflect on an acquaintance who has chucked his whole American life and moved to Haiti to teach children. So he is constantly blogging about the political unrest, violent weather, and other horrific circumstances that make it nearly impossible for him to get his kids to school much less teach them anything. All he asks for is prayers. GAAAACK! As I plod along the aisles at the dollar store looking for things that don't look cheap so that I can give someone some useless plastic thing as an indication of my love, I'm reminded that my acquaintance really gets it and I'm a complete clod. I hope he never reads this and realizes that I measure my own inadequacy by stacking it up against his greatness. Scratch that. I think I'll send it to him so he knows how amazing he is.

My husband's got a similar take on the whole thing - doesn't understand how coloring books and dolls and games mean we love Jesus - which intellectually I totally understand. But when he says it it sounds very scrooge-y and I hate it.

Moreover, I hate having to analyze my desire to celebrate holidays with some fanfare, some fuss and some material - shallow as it may be - pleasures.

Hating having to analyze it makes me hate the whole thing, which I really hate.

I always tell my kids not to 'hate' because it reflects poorly on them, rather than on the person or thing they dislike.

I hate when I can't or don't do what I tell my kids to do.

Speaking of which, are your kids ever quiet? Because my kids, no matter how often I tell them that movie-watching is not an interactive experience, can't contain themselves. At all. Ever. These kids talk non-stop. I've discovered this on day four of winter break. Truth be told, I discover it every time there are even three seconds of waking quiet in my house. Just thought I'd tell you. No idea where they get this gabbiness from.

So I'm feeling like this whole post is a bit of a downer. Perhaps some Nog'll fix me up.

Blech. Discount store Egg Nog is revolting!

I hate that.

A Thankful Thief

This isn't the house I dreamed I'd have when I was a small child. Still, my home is truly a dream-come-true. My husband isn't the man I fantasized about. But he is the man of my dreams. My children don't look anything like I thought they would. They are more beautiful, more magical than anything I could have drawn in my head. This isn't the life, not the job nor the body or the economy I had wished for. Instead, it is a real life, a challenging job, an accomplished body, and an economy filled with opportunity for better days ahead. None of my dreams have come true exactly as I imagined them. But I am immersed in, consumed with humility, blessed inside and out for the great fortune that has befallen me. I know I don't deserve it. I am a thief by default, taking what I know must not be rightfully mine because I am just little, undeserving me. Who am I to have such a terrific group of kind, generous, funny and interesting friends? What do I give that in return I receive such acceptance and love, such devotion and patience from my family? How is it that God with all of his pressing and more important duties finds time to devote Himself to me, to my petty little prayers about things that bear no consequence, really? It can only be that I am a usurper, living a life of grace that I surely must be stealing from some other more deserving soul. If I am to be redeemed at all for such an egregious sin I hope it will come from my expression of a most deep and abiding gratitude. I am thankful for the warm reception with which each day greets me. I am thankful for the teachers who devote themselves to me and my children with so much honesty and integrity, for the neighbors I don't know and those, especially, that I do, for the waste collectors who take away my refuse and look for my son to say a kind word or share a smile, for the parents - sometimes grandparents! - of my children's friends, who befriend me with open hearts and homes. I am thankful for my mom who leads in every way by example, no matter how weary she may be. I am thankful for the goodness that surrounds me, no matter how hampered it may be by the noise and futility with which it is confronted. I am thankful for the dignity that comes with being able to share a meal with my family. I am thankful that I can share these words with you and I am thankful. Simply, plainly, truly, today and every day I am thankful.

A Dash of This, A Pinch of That

The fall season is upon us, although you'd never know it from the near-70 degree temps outside. Nonetheless, my internal baking clock is ticking and soon the house will be held captive by the pungent perfume of cinammon and spices and whatever I've burned to an unrecognizable crisp each day. Mmmmm.... delish. While we wait for the smoke alarm to go off, let's discuss the issues of the day, shall we?

My husband raised an interesting point this morning. (He does that a lot, I just choose not to give him credit as it disturbs the careful balance I've cultivated in our relationship, where I'm really awesome and he does everything wrong.) His point was that some people do not wish to pay for others' health care because it's not fair and poor people don't deserve benefits they haven't earned. (Inherent in this argument is the notion that poor people might game the very system that benefits them, this system that would be funded by good, hardworking and honest folks.) Oddly, the same people who do not wish to pay to heal the poor do not mind if we pay for the wealthiest folks in our country to keep more money in their infinitely deep pockets. Instead, they insist we extend tax benefits that the rich do not need (and in many cases do not want).

Interesting, isn't it? I wonder if any wealthy folks game any of our government programs - or any of our citizens - in their pursuit of those deep-pocketed pants? I wonder why some feel good about paying the wealthy, but bad about caring for the poor. I wonder, but I do not judge.

So casting aside any partisan rancor the mid-term election may have installed in my ideological camp, I've decided to stand with our president and move forward with further emphasis on compromise. To that end I suggest we agree with our limited government friends and reduce the government's work in January. Remove the extension of the tax cut item from the congressional 'to-do' list. Seems like a win-win. No?

More seriously (not by much) I have this question: are we serious? In my house, the economic shift of the past several years has moved us from Jewel to Aldi, from Marshall Fields (whimper) to Village Discount and from 'Don't worry about it' to 'We can't afford that this week.' Where is the parallel shift in my government? After all the resources expended to craft a health care bill that's been generations in the making (not months - not months - it's been decades!) who among us will tolerate spending additional millions in repealing it and replacing it with something else? Any effort in that regard ought to be met with the full, if dormant, revolutionary ire and indignant repulsion of the entire tax-paying population of this country. (Tea Partiers take note - I consider you an abomination and will not give you the dignity of even suggesting you represent the true revolutionary spirit of our early citizens.) We can ill-afford to re-build the house when we can hardly make our existing mortgage payments.

So we need relevant, pragmatic and intelligent leadership to solve these problems right? Then let's get something clear: red suits and glossy lipstick and a great flip do not make you any more qualified to serve in the U.S. Senate than do polyester pants, chapped lips and a bad bob. You don't get to change the 'historical trajectory' of anything in governance just because you have perfectly even white teeth. Snap out of it for crissakes! There are only 100 U.S. Senators in the world. The folks who hold those jobs should be among the top 100 most intelligent, well-read, educated, informed, and thoughtful people in the world. Ever. If a candidate does not meet that criteria - party and gender completely irrelevant- then you should laugh that candidate off the political stage. If she's a woman and you're a woman you should laugh louder than men. THAT would be a real step towards taking women seriously.

Just as women should be taken seriously on their merits so too should gay people of all ages, sizes, creeds and what-have-you. If our government, through its policies, actions, speech and representations models treatment of gays as second-class citizens, immoral citizens, unworthy citizens then it should be no surprise that the rest of our citizens would follow suit. And there should be no shock associated with the raging current that washes children from their intuitive acceptance of everyone and everything across the rational divide to a morality-barren shore where they will beat - literally or figuratively - the life out of another child. Those who do not tell - urge - compel - their representatives to ensure the law must protect us all equally are equally to blame for the degradation of our fellow citizens' civil liberties. Worse - we turn away from children who are in pain, afraid, lonely and tell them they deserve our indifference. We need to stop that.

On a lighter note, we must also stop this national obsession with the God forsaken McRib. That is not real meat, people! Real food does not simulate bone-in shape. You should be afraid of it, not dreaming about it and certainly not licking it off your fingers on the bus. It's gross. Really. Stop it.

Speaking of stopping - what is that incessant beeping noise? Mmmmm... and what is that smell? Maybe I should check the oven.

"I just hate that the kids' education is largely carried out by a failing agenda, a crumbling infrastructure and a legendary lack of intelligent leadership. I'm not going to do anything about it. I'm just going to hate it.

"I'm worried sick about the economic situation in Illinois and across the country. Everything from production of material goods to distribution of credit to long-term fiscal planning is a mess and seemingly getting worse every day. I'm not going to do anything about it. I'm just going to worry.

"My profession is becoming extinct as an income-producing member of the job species. There are no proper rules in place to guide the new wave of real estate sales that's dominating the market, so the object of the game is a moving - sometimes invisible - target. I'm working harder and harder but accomplishing less and less. I'm not going to do anything about it. I'm just going to watch it happen.

"I'm alternately panicked and indignant about our national security and the assault on our civil liberties. I don't feel like anyone's carefully balancing one against the other to make sure that the basic tenets of our democracy are protected as fiercely as our border or our airports. Cargo doesn't fall into a separate category, as far as I'm concerned. I'm not going to do anything about it. I'm just going to be panicked and indignant.

"It seems that radicals are taking over the public discourse, making me feel like if I'm liberal I'm a socialist and if I'm conservative I'm a bigot. I'm none of those things entirely, nor is anyone I know. The media, our politicians and public servants seem to be portraying a false reality. And some people are making very important decisions based on this false truth. I'm not going to do anything about it. I'm just noticing.

"Problems abound, I feel sinking in the pit of my stomach as I watch vast national resources - ours and others' - tortured. My own hard work seems to be lost in the fray and my voice is hoarse from talking about all the things I think ought to be changed. My children are entering a world that I cannot compel to abide by some common system of morality, humanity, sanity.

"I'm not going to do anything about it. I'm just going to allow circumstances to bat me around like a ball on a tether. I won't protest, won't balk a bit. I'm going to stand stock still and watch the whole thing unravel before me, hands in my pockets, a faint shrug in my shoulders. I'm going to watch you, my neighbor, my country, my ancestors' work and all that has gone before me flail, flounder and flush because I can't be bothered."

Is that what you're going to do?

Not me. I'm going to vote.

The Boss Blog

A sultry night on the city's river-front played softly behind the shimmer of an intimate wedding service this past Sunday, while a small group of close friends and family wondered in the power and magic - the endurance - of love. It was a most monumental occasion in the lives of those who know the story and a long time coming.

My old boss is a complicated man. He's an immigrant to the U.S., the youngest of two sons of Jewish parents, separated by 10 years from his older brother. A fair helping of triumphs and tragedies took him from humble beginnings in Chicago all the way to a big-shot job with a fancy law firm in the city when I met him some (mumble, cough, 23) years ago. At the time, I was an obnoxious, big-haired, smoking 19-year-old with a nice sized chip on my shoulder. (No wisecracks please.)

We clicked right away. And when I say clicked I mean he could not believe he hired me and I couldn't figure out how to argue with him enough. At a point, and I'm pretty sure just to make me mad, he made my 'desk' the same table as the one that held the photocopier. I would answer phones and take messages while my notebook shifted slowly left and then clicked right with the motion of the copier pad. I never said a word, which I think irritated him to no end and eventually I got my own desk. Years later, I got a coveted window office when we moved to new space. We were both worried that other employees might be a bit miffed that I was getting such a prized space, so I agreed to take the larger office with the huge post in the middle as a compromise. Having had a photocopier table as a desk makes a person really appreciate any stable workspace. An important lesson, well learned.

(In a fun little twist of fate, I managed to sit myself behind a huge post at his wedding, so I had a broad smile on my face with more than one meaning as I enjoyed the event!)

During the years that we worked together, we learned quite a bit from and about one another. I'm not sure either of us has or ever will acknowledge how much. I was with him during so many long days and nights when he worked himself to exhaustion only to bear the unbearable degradation of ungrateful and merciless corporate clients. I was with him when no matter what numbers he produced, the numbers were never enough to feel some rest, never enough to feel finished with chasing numbers. I was with him when he juggled his obligations to work, children, wife, mother, brother and - with very little room left - himself. Often, that juggling act left too many important players unattended, or at least feeling so - though rarely work, and never, ever if he could help it, children. I was with him when he learned - grudgingly - that he would have to trust others in order to take himself beyond what he could touch, to what he could influence. That was a terribly difficult step and he required quite a bit of reassurance. For whatever reason, on many the occasion, I believe I was the needed steadying presence.

Just as I was there for him, he was there for me. He was there, to gently - some times very harshly - but always with the intention of teaching - correct me. He was there to give me a chance, when it was absolutely ludicrous to do so, because he believed in me. He was there when I met my husband, to give him the once-over before he gave his seal of approval. And he was there to tell me with full sincerity that he was glad when I announced that I was having twins and would have to leave the office.

If all that - all the memories, lunches, trips, crossword puzzles, and conference calls in between are not enough - there is also this. My boss taught me (and along the way himself) one of life's greatest lessons: why work matters.

I had always had a good work ethic; he and I share the same value system about this from our respective immigrant roots. But while I worked very hard, long hours, I always knew that the work and the money didn't mean much to me if I didn't have my family, my loves, my time at peace with myself. I think he didn't have this all figured out when he started. He was consumed for a time with the competitive nature of his work, with the ticking in his head of a clock he was racing, and to what end I'm not sure he quite knew all along. And he was terribly lonely, though he would never tell you that openly, and I think he felt bad for it given that he was married and had a warm, loving family and small group of friends.

We worked together for over thirteen years. Watching him grow in this sadness, watching him allow so much of his young life to crumble away while he worked himself so desperately was not an easy thing. And it made me ever so much more impatient for my life to be different. Of course, I wasn't quiet about it. I pushed him, nudged and nagged him, ordered him at times, to go 'get a life'! It was a long time coming, but with many signs and blessings along the way, he did.

So while many of the things that helped him achieve his success did not survive the trip, thankfully he did, and his children did - quite beautifully - and so did our friendship. He works now, but on his own terms, doing something he enjoys and far away from the hectic and hurry of the days we shared. He shares time with his lovely, talented girls and recently added a son-in-law to his family with much joy and celebration. I do hope that in some part, I was an influence in making this happen, but really, so much of it belongs to his new wife. On Sunday, I saw him wed his companion of the past ten years, a woman who simply radiates goodness and love for him. Their courtship has been a slow bloom, tentative at first, sweet, so down-to-earth and real. They are as natural together as sun and sky. That she has opened him up and made him really feel life - experience it with all the senses, even when its uncomfortable - is clear, and a joy to see. That he has given her the security, the steadiness and strength of a person who really gets it now is an equal pleasure. It was a long time coming, and not a straight-line path, but my boss found his way, and I'm so glad. Nothing but love could have made it happen.

And so it came to be that a sultry night on the city's river-front played softly behind the shimmer of an intimate wedding service this past Sunday, while a small group of close friends and family wondered in the power and magic - the endurance - of love.

It's About That Time

Been away from this for far too long and realize the pent-up verbosity is starting to impact my ability to remain twitch-free during waking hours. So. Here goes.

My mother is driving me insane. She is unlicensed and has never owned a car, so that just tells you how the ride has been.

I'm driving my children insane. And so the legacy lives on.

Speaking of legacies an inside-operating, old-school-politicking, power-playing Chicagoan is vying for the top job in the city now that the beloved and beleaguered mayor is stepping aside. I know intellectually that I should be inclined to support a less Daley-esque figure for this position, but I frickin' love Rahm. And when I say 'frickin' I mean the finger-in-your-bare-chest-you-muther-effer version of the word.

Which leads me to Delaware. Obviously. There's nothing like a perky, cute, high-heel-wearing, tight-skirt-sporting, vernacular-using gal from some remote state running for a national office to fill up every conceivable bit of blank space in the world. It's got to make the Hillaries of the world just want to vomit. Call me Hillary from now on.

Now that I'm Hillary, allow me to look disgustedly at all my fellow progressives and lecture: Act your ages (hands on hips) and stop pouting right now, dammit! Don't let me come up there and see that look on your face again. Do you hear me? We don't always get everything we want; have you seen my life for crissakes? But that doesn't mean good things aren't happening. Democracy does not operate on 4G speed you spoiled, over-caffeinated, self-indulgent brats. Yes, you. Now march back to your position on the historic arc we've created to reclaim our nation's progressive identity and you tow that blessed line before I spank your bottom and send you to bed with NO healthcare.

On the off chance you opt to go to your room and fume silently, save for the grumbles of your un-fed, spoily-cat tummy, I've got something for you to ponder up there. Why is this country so bipolar?

We routinely expose ourselves as homophobes by not openly and matter-of-factly accepting homosexuals in our armies, our churches, our public offices. Then we wonder why our children are so driven to despair when they lurch into a reality that pits their identity against their basic safety. We all know gay people. So there's no question they exist. And there's no question we know it. The only question is: when are we going to stop killing them, either by commission or omission, whether in spirit or in deed? When?

We wonder why people are so disconnected that they wouldn't recognize the danger in exposing someone's intimate habits on the world-wide-web. Then we sit with our family members in a car or an audience or a waiting room and each click away at our individual electronic devices rather than bear idle conversation. I know the newspaper's dying, but just like there's something uniquely human about the tactile experience of touching that paper and hearing that crinkle and smelling that ink, there's something uniquely inhumane about experiencing everything in a virtual sense instead of a real sense. And that inhumanity is infecting our children.

We tout our devotion to equality, diversity, education in every venue with every version of a mic we can find. Then we vote for morons in lip gloss, grossly and shamelessly question the nationality of our president because of his color, and systematically decimate the systems, tools and resources we have for teaching our children anything but how to be the first to buy HALO for the best price. I talk about losing weight all the time. Not exactly committed to it in real life. The proof is in the pudding. (Are you eating that?)

Now that I think about it, I don't need you to think about it. In fact, scratch the question. We're not bipolar. We're just incredibly stupid.

And as a final thought? I offer this: Rick Sanchez may or may not have been right. Judge for yourself based on the entirety of the conversation. http://www.thewrap.com/media/article/transcript-cnns-rick-sanchez-meltdown-sirius-radio-21386?page=0,0

But his termination was absurd, and as a Cuban-American myself, I'm quite comfortable accepting that he could view Jon Stewart or CNN or any other establishment in the U.S. as being bigoted (or prejudicial, as he later corrected himself - which did not make the news). I accept this because I blend quite nicely with Anglos and Jews on the surface and still when people discover my ethnicity they feel comfortable calling me 'amiga' or a 'hot-blooded Latin mama' or asking me to do a Charro imitation. (Granted, the latter of these was in the late 70s, but man it stung and I'm still carrying it with me.) I've been asked more times than I can count if I have a good recipe for salsa. I never ask my Polish friends for pierogi recipes, do you?

In the most academic circles people will greet me with 'hola chica' and I've had more than one person ask me if my fair-skinned children actually 'belong' to my dark, olive-skinned husband. Bigotry is quite alive and healthy in this country, certainly in media where even Univision's lead anchors are fair and have blue or green eyes. So if Rick is a little raw from a lifetime of dealing with that and has had it up to 'aqui' with Jon Stewart's nickering and teasing, I'll allow him a little leeway. Just like we allow Keith Olberman and Chris Matthews and Lou Dobbs and Glenn Beck and Sean Hannity and Bill O'Reilly and Rush Limbaugh some room. Lots of room.

Oh that's right.

They're white.