This is the One

This is the one wish for you I have on Christmas.

I wish you could see my Sam, the faithful, the fierce, so noble and good. I wish you could see him in his brand-new jammies, eager and excited, waiting patiently to be given the 'ok to open' signal. The imposition of restraint on Christmas morning, a tried and true parental inside joke, is wasted on this boy. He is possessed, with good measure and even better sentiment, of a rightness that makes his center impossible to challenge. He is what prevails when goodness is tested. In fact, he is the enduring goodness that awaits us all. I wish you could feel that. I'm sure it would give you the confidence it gives me that all is right with the world, no matter the troubles of the day.

I wish you could see my Sara tripping down the stairs, bounding through the halls, then tiptoeing into our bedroom, long before the sun comes up, to reassure her densely sleeping parents that Santa, indeed, did come. Had only we known... My Sara, so alive and giggly and noticeable; so shy, intimidated - so like me - she reflects the most hidden pieces of me. I wish those pieces were as beautiful, as graceful and delicate in me as they are in her. I wish you could know her, as I do, to be the magic that speaks only in the shimmer of stars and the twinkle of lights lost in a horizon. She is the vibe in the room, the excitement in the crowd, the ear-to-ear grin that erupts for no good reason at all. I wish you could see that. I'm sure it would give you the joy that must be the meaning and purpose of all life.

I wish you could experience the spirit and joy of my Lucy, so much the young lady, squealing with delight when she receives the long-awaited gift on Christmas morn', from Santa, of course. Would it be a shame to take pleasure in whatever baby-like qualities remain? No matter, I do. Though even as they fade, there is a bloom about her that is unflolding, softly, sweetly, not without thorns but lovely in anticipation. She reaches out to receive a life where the hint of who she is will be revealed in finest splendor for all the world to enjoy. This, under the gaze of a generous and doting sun, washed by the wishes of those who love her - adore her - and rooted in the strength of character she's possessed long before this change could stall or stray her. I wish you could be with me to see it all, and I wish it would give you the fullness of heart it gives me.

So this is the one wish: I wish you the confidence to dream and dream big, it is a beautiful world; the joy to live, really live, with a broad smile about the whole thing; and the reason, whatever it may be, to open your heart and fill it with all that is here, and all that will come. And may God bless you and keep you now and always. Merry Christmas.

The Holiday Random Post

Who knows when I'll get back to this, so all the random holiday thoughts I can muster are here to ornament your memories of the season.

I totally love red christmas balls. Can't say that around my son without infecting the house with giggles and snickers. Ah, the nine year old boy's sense of humor...

I wish I could be a million sparkles shining down on everyone I love during this season. Instead, I'm a million wishes in a dollar store gift bag.

People who work at the dollar store during a down economy should be given TARP money for all they suffer at the hands of overwrought customers trying to tie together a million-dollar look for under three bucks. God bless them one and all.

Cleaning house day for the holidays ought to be a federal holiday. A gal can't work and do that at the same time.

My hot chocolate is always either too sweet or too bland or too hot to drink until it's too cold. Is it too much to ask for the ability to make a dang good cup of hot chocolate?

On that note, mini marshmellows simply don't do it for me. I prefer one big fluffy marshmellow melting all across the top of the cup. Which never happens for me because I can never get the temperature right.

I let my husband pick out the Christmas tree this year and he, of course, picked the least expensive tree in a variety of pine that I loathe. Sadly, the tree is gorgeous and now I'm forced to tell him that all the time.

Lucky for me, he won't remember it three days after it's down and I'll make sure to remind him next year that I hated it.

Why is it that no matter how much I try not to meet new people or make new friends my Christmas list becomes exponentially larger every year? I suppose it doesn't help that my extended family keeps having babies in twos.

As an added bonus during the craze, my body apparently experiencing global warming. I'm freezing all the time. Except when I'm boiling hot. This could explain the hot chocolate debacle. Or be a sign of things to come. Yeesh.

That said, at my ripe old age I still have no idea what to get for my mother. It's the bane of my holiday season. Aside from the temperature problem, that is.

My babies still believe in Santa. Or pretend to for my benefit. Either way, I love it. Gives me hope that innocence still has a place in the world. It's upstairs tucked into bed.

When it's all said and done the tire, the mire and high-wire act one must perform to participate in the celebrations of the season should leave one spent and flushed but thoroughly pleased. If that works out for you, let me know?

Funny how my homemade gifts still require the use of technology that to generations before mine would have seemed alien in concept, much less application. So, by 1920s standards, I'm as cutting edge as a space shuttle vacation on Mars!

Also, is it me, or has anyone else noticed that just about everything on Star Trek is now normal, every day stuff? That's just wackadoodle.

The nearer we draw to the end of the year, the more I'm compelled to reflect and remark upon the sheer thrill of surviving it all, not just me, but everyone I know. I'm also compelled to wonder how in creation we'll keep it up. But then, that's the fun of it, isn't it?

The smile being the best accessory to any outfit, I'm wondering if my jeans could get on board and just suck in my hips for me when I grin from ear to ear. Their lack of cooperation making for less-than-favorable reaction from the full-length mirror. While I wait, the waist-high wall mirror will have to suffice.

I love, love, love the smell of Christmas candles in every variety. Except that gawd-awful spiced cake thing I got a couple of years ago at an outlet store. Smells like spiced foot. I swear I've thrown it out eleven times and every year it resurfaces.

I blame my mother.

It's got nothing to do with her. It's just simpler to keep all the blame in one column. Sorry Mami.

And while we're on the subject of sorry, let me insert a blanket 'sorry' here for all the folks I'd love to love more often, especially during holidays, with more attention and more time, but simply can't. I'm starting to think that guilt manifests itself in me physically as hair, which is why I look like a female version of that hairy character in the Harry Potter movies. Something to think about come resolution time. Must get a guilt-cut.

As for resolutions, I'll have more to say (natch) but for now, this: I resolve to keep at it. To keep trying, to keep my head up, to keep smiling, to keep expecting the best and bracing for whatever comes with the best cheer I can gather and the most strength I can find, offering the best care and most love I can give, until I'm thoroughly spent, flushed, and pleased. When that happens, I'll order a nice cup of hot chocolate from someone who knows what they're doing, and rest.

Insert Title Here (I can't think of one)

First, in case I never get back to it, Happy Holidays to everyone!

I'm sure my uber-Christian brothers and sisters at Fox cringe when they hear that, even from this distance. (They are far, right?) It's only because their little X-Mas Elf ears affect their hearing. Not news to the rest of us but apparently, over at Fox News, they haven't heard yet that the world - nay even our country - is not entirely made up of people who believe Christ is the son of God... GASP! Avert your eyes Sean, Bill, Glenn. It's ugly.

I will say in defense of the 'Save Christmas Patrol' on FNC, I have the same reaction when I find out some people are not Cubs fans. That boggles.

Next, I've so so so much work in front of me in every direction, just thinking about it makes me tired. Do you feel that way? I used to look at tons of work and purposely ignore it and go have fun. The youthful me was such an optimist. "I'll have time later." The current me knows there is no time later that isn't filled with something.

Also, along those lines is it me or is 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen' offensive? Men need a song now to tell them to relax during the holidays? Please.

On another 'is it me?' front - British accents are usually very pleasant. Except during holiday season (attack of the flying tea bags!) when they seem snooty to me. Right?

Went to the office holiday party (is that Greta Van Susteren coming at me?) and all the babes in the office were hanging all over my husband. Husband soaked it up with a big smile most of the night. Mock jealous rage ensued. Couldn't help a smug smile on the way out with my party-hit of a man.

Went to my kids' holiday concert (watch for flying 'no-spin' gear) and was completely renewed in my faith that no matter the troubles anywhere, all is right with the world. Beautiful children, with hopeful voices, learning to overcome nervousness and worry with hard work and dedication; learning that no matter how different they all are when they come together it is beautiful; finding ways to share each other through a universal language; millions of ways to enjoy that evening and the lilt of loveliness in the air was only one of them.

Went to a friends' holiday celebration (look out! they've launched the Rove!!) last night. She had been having lavish holiday parties for years and then started taking each year's down a notch on the extravagance scale as the economic faint of the last few years took hold. Finally, last night, she did a pot-luck. I think she was a little worried about how it would turn out. It was fantastic! The luxury of old was replaced by an abundance of beautiful dishes carefully crafted by those wanting to impress with their offerings - they all did, generous amounts of wine, the good, the mediocre and the 'who cares, it's wine', and people, all different kinds, shapes and struggles, just happy to be together. It was beyond delicious all the 'way round and I was so pleased for her that it truly was an evening of celebration.
Last, just curious. Why is it that when we see people wear elf outfits for holiday events (did you see that Hannity mug fly by?) we think it's cute and it makes us smile - but when I go out in my little elf hat and shoes, everyone steers clear of me? Is that fair? Or balanced? Don't answer that.

No, I can't.

Y'know that old adage "I think I can, I think I can"? And is there some song that goes with it about a rubber tree plant? (Why I'm compelled to think of Lavergne and Shirley when I remember that is beyond me. If you know, do tell.) Am I rambling already? Yes. Forget that part. I'm on something else. I'm on "I think I can".

"I think I can." Really. Really? You can? How do you work a full-time job, keep a tidy home, love and pay attention to your children, be a devoted spouse, provide support and care for your aging parents, spend time with your friends and extended family, and keep a trim, healthy figure, stay fresh on current events and make appropriate facial expressions during group conversations? You know how? No you don't. You don't because I don't and I call bull! It's really impossible.

I'll admit, it has never been easy, but there've been times in my life where I had most of my stuff together. Then, like the plate spinning fool of old television, I added more and more spinning articles to my repetoire. I added a spouse. He came with in-laws. (Should have read the manual on that purchase!) We bought a car. Then a building. Then had a baby.

I was fat, but that wasn't new. And all the other plates were happily spinning along, so we had another baby. Oh. Uh. Yeah. About that. Make that two. Ok. No worries. We can handle it. Bought a house. Kept the building. Got another car. (I'm saying car, but what I mean is disgusting green minivan. But show some kindness and let's just say car, o.k.?)

Spinning, spinning, spinning.

Anyone who watched those shows knows that the more plates that spin, the more poles you need in the air to hold the plates. And the more plates you put up, the faster each must spin, in order to give you time to get back to the first plate.

Family needs me - SPIN. Mother needs me - SPIN. School needs me - SPIN SPIN SPIN. Friends neglected - SPIN! Kids need me - SPIN and need me more - SPIN SPIN. Family spin teetering on the brink of collapse - RUSH SPIN SPIN SPIN. Wait! Clients need me. SPINNNNN!

And then, despite all the frantic racing back and forth, all the late-nite spins, the early morning spins, the coughing and tired but still spinning spins - despite all that effort a plate crashes to the floor. Loud, embarrassing, and halting. If you stop to stare at the smashed china you'll not have time to get back to the other plates wobbling and flailing on their respective poles. So you give a brief eulogy in your head for the innocent plant that turned into a potted ode to death in your dining room and get back.

Adding to your grief, someone who's equally busy - or maybe moreso - seems perfectly calm and mania free and advises you to stopy worrying. And if you're me, she's probably thinner than you! Where's the justice I ask?

The sad and pathetic truth is, if all this plate spinning had me model-thin I'd probably not give a hoot. But I'm one of those people who does not get slimmer with stress. I get facial rashes. So, I'm tired, have bags under my eyes, I'm fat and have a 3-D multi-colored rash on my forehead.

I don't know how I got into the plate-spinning business, but I will tell you this: I hate rubber tree plants.

As for "I think I can". Actually, no. I can't.

Why This One?

Thanksgiving should be the most important holiday ever. Why? (I just knew you'd ask.) Because this holiday is the very essence of what a holiday should be. A holiday is a respite from the ordinary, a vacation - even if for only a few hours - from the every day. So the table is set a little more beautifully, the meal is prepared a little more carefully, and the occasion of being together with ones you love is felt a little more deeply. Isn't that lovely? In theory, it is. And that's what I want you to focus on.

Because the actual setting of the table, when your back hurts and your feet ache and your family is helping about as much as a collection of lawn gnomes might isn't always pleasurable. And the frantic resetting of the table when the cat knocks over your fancy glasswear and pulls down the tablecloth two seconds before people arrive isn't any better.

Meal preparation in the magazines and t.v. shows doesn't look anything like it does at my house. Here, the kitchen generously donates itself not only to the task of boiling, baking and burning (let's be honest here) the most important meal of the year, but also bends to receive the automotive project du jour, the incessant display of whatever "mommy LOOK" item is being paraded by a child, and the hotel switchboard-like ringing of the manic house phone.

As for holding the occasion of bringing loved ones together more closely? This is probably the most complex brush stroke on the painting, isn't it? 'Some of these folks,' you're thinking, 'I wouldn't admit to knowing on other days of the year.' Or am I the only one that thinks that? No matter. It's so hard not to be grumpy about the repeated loudness of some, or the chronic lateness of others. In fact, the same things that bug you on other days can seem magnified instead of lessened on holidays when you are stressed and excited and tired.

I know. But when that happens to you tomorrow, try something new. Close your eyes for a minute and think to yourself - 'This moment, this person is a gift to me that I could not have received on any other day but today.' And then, allow yourself to be glad for it. Give thanks that your mother, so slow, so annoying, so picky, is here to share this day with you. Smile broadly at your baby who, despite every instruction to stop bugging you, has come into the room to show you yet another stick-figure picture. God willing, that baby will grow up to celebrate with his own small family some day, and you'll not be there to smile. Wrap your arms around your husband, partner or companion, and thank him for working on that messy project in the middle of the kitchen. He's spending his holiday working to solve a problem so you don't have to. For that matter, gentlemen, remember to warmly thank your wife or sweetheart for the care she devotes to you on this and every other day. She loves to hear it, and doesn't mind at all when you repeat it.

This holiday, this brief journey away from days of drudge and drear, is a day to give - and give generously - of something you don't need to budget, save or shop for. Just thanks, in copious amounts if you're doing it right. Spend freely, without limit, and enjoy the bliss of reckless abandon that we've all come to avoid in other, more traditional expenditures. Tomorrow take a break and open your heart deep and wide and give thanks, as I do to you for sharing this moment in your day. And in keeping with my own advice - here's an extra for the road - Thank You!

The Last Word

The American system of justice in all its glory is nothing to be feared, avoided or circumvented. It is the envy of all justice systems. It is the reason we are so great. A display of our fair, impartial and corruption-free system of justice as it carries out the proper consequence for the greatest terrorist act against our country is entirely the right thing to do, and should go far to restore the world's confidence in our moral justification for global leadership. Now if you're afraid that our system is not fair, impartial and corruption-free, or you believe we are not great, or that we have no moral justification for global leadership - if that's what you're afraid of, then you've an entirely different problem. I am not afraid. I have faith in our system. I believe, in the parlance of some on my ideological right, that "these colors do not run", nor do we whine when we don't get our way, nor do we fight one against the other. Our enemy is not our brother. Instead, our enemy, after too long a wait, will be brought to justice as he should be, in the place where he can smell the unity of our cause and feel the palpable truth in our one step. In this country he will be tried. In the country he tried to sink but failed. In the country where justice is blind but not stupid and our pursuit of it is righteous but not arrogant.

The Long and Winding Road

When Tony and I bought our first property, I was pregnant with Lucy. It was a time of great hope, dream and joy for us, despite the attendant drama that goes with such a big move. We bought a modest building in a comfortable working-class neighborhood and settled in for the work of updating, upkeeping and making home.

Next door, a couple with their two children served as ambassadors for the neighborhood. He knew everyone and everything and if he didn't he bragged on as if he did anyway. She was sweet and mild and easy to laugh. Their children, both beautiful, were lively and precocious. We became fast friends.

And through them, we became friends with everyone on the block. There was a couple down the street with two young boys, a family of five with kids of every age, and a single guy living with his elderly parents. There was an unmarried gal living in their place and a couple with two older children to the north. Everybody knew my neighbors and so we got to know all of them.

We were unlikely matches, all of us, crossing economic, language, cultural and religious barriers to enjoy a backyard barbecue or hang out in front while the kids played. But we were comfortable with each other, like warm sweaters, and we all enjoyed the time we spent together. When I became pregnant with the twins just a year and a half after I had Lucy, the whole block joined me in being excited and nervous. It was a wonderful time.

Time marches on, as they say, and of course, things change. We'd had a longer term plan in mind when we bought the building, but the twins altered our math a little and we soon found ourselves bursting at the seams. Mostly by accident, we found a house nearby and were the first to leave the block. We kept the building as an investment (hah!) which kept our ties to the neighborhood strong and our friendships continued even after we moved.

Sadly, the young man who lived with his parents had to say goodbye to his father, who passed away after a brief illness. Tony sold the building and helped the mother find a nearby apartment. The young man moved off to a far away suburb to escape his sadness. (It didn't much work, from what I can tell.)

Another family - faced with the prospect of having to place their sons in less-than-desireable public high schools, decided to move closer to a private school. Tony sold their building and helped them buy another place. The neighborhood got markedly quieter after that.

The large family that had been renting several doors down decided it was time for them, too, to go. The older children to the north of me went off to high school and then college. Their parents, who always kept to themselves anyway, retreated further.

And so the only ones left were our original next door neighbors. Steady, dependable, always willing to lend a hand, this family had always been there to openly receive newcomers and to wave goodbye as family after family left.

And now it is their turn. The father, our friend, has become ill with, mostly, self-inflicted ails. It's terribly sad. The son, now college-age, returned after a year away at school to help out at home. The daughter, a few years older than my Lucy, is just now coming into her own, but it's a slow walk. And the mother, our quick-to-smile friend, is carrying on despite the hardness of the situation. Tony's selling the building and we're going to help them find a new place, hopefully close by.

The thing is - this is not the way I thought all these lives would carry out - with death and loss and injury. I can look at it all and find the incredible good - the two gorgeous boys who moved away with their parents are every bit of wonderful and good and smart; the widow who moved into her own place has found new life with friends and family members and a granddaughter who lights her life; we have gone on to live a magic-induced dream of a life with beautiful babies, and a warm home and lots to celebrate. And I know my friend will find peace and happiness in her new life with the children, away from this place where I think many sad memories reside.

So I can look at all that and be happy for what has and will come.

But I have a sentimental desire to return to those September eves when we'd all be out in front, kids laughing, moms chatting, dads mowing - when none of us had lost a parent or watched a loved one wither. I always think, if I could just go back and hug those moments of my life a little tighter, it would make me feel better.

But I can't. I know. And I wonder what lies ahead, given what has gone. It is, indeed, a long and winding road.