All Christmassy and Stuff

I've been feeling really happy and fulfilled and creative lately. I bought my first very own Christmas tree this year. I'd been thinking of getting one for a couple of years, but couldn't stomach the thought of shopping for Christmas stuff during Christmas time or after Christmas time. But then my brother wanted to bring the family down to Indy the weekend before Christmas, and I figured it was the perfect opportunity to make good on my promise.

I love my tree! It's perfect size for me, just about 5 and half feet tall, petite branches with mini pine cones, sparkly frost that glistens, and tiny white lights. I added a few simple silver balls and some Snoopy ornaments I've had since the 70s, and was delighted that I still had the Christmas tree skirt my Grandma Becker made for me years ago. I even got out my little family of moose and put them under the tree and then dug out a tasteful nativity scene that I managed to save over the years. When I get home from work, I love to plug in the tree and take a few moments to gaze at the pretty lights. Before I go to bed, I also take a few moments to take in some quiet magic.

I've been making gifts and wrapping them and putting them under the tree. I feel blessed and fortunate to have gifts for those I love. The other night  I put on some Tchaikovsky and just sat in peace alone in my home, looking at the gifts under the tree and thinking about my family's upcoming visit. It hasn't happened in a long time, but I was emotional and moved to tears and not for sadness.

I had lost touch with my emotions quite some time ago and was taking steps to reel them back in, and sitting under the delicate lights next to my fire, I seemed to let go of some shackles that I thought were protecting me all these years. I started to feel real joy, the kind I remember feeling as a kid.

The weekend at Aunt Amy's house went pretty well. We went to the Children's Museum, where it quickly hit me that nearly 3/4 of my nieces and nephews are too old for the Children's Museum. Still they were good sports, taking in the sights and sounds, and seemingly enjoying themselves. Daniel loved it, and Lauren was still young enough to not completely enshroud her excitement.

Larry was a champ and offered to get the kids and two adults in on his grandparent's pass, which meant he also had to go to the Children's Museum. We had a good time riding the carousel and spending time at many of the excellent exhibits. The installation on Anne Frank, Ruby Bridges, and Ryan White were especially well done and harrowing. Larry and I both shed some tears. (I love it that Larry is able to be moved to tears.)

It was really nice checking out the various displays and "countries" with my mom. There is a really good exhibit on the different religions of the world, and looking at the relics and texts and photos, I was reminded how small I am in this giant world. Just a dot.

Once back at my house, I made dinner while the kids played Scrabble upstairs on my guest bed. They seemed to be enjoying just being somewhere new, and the guest room probably felt like a hotel to them. Afterwards, they went to see the Christmas lights, and Larry and I stayed at my place to get the chocolate fondue working. (It didn't work, btw, damn gadgets.)

The next day I figured I'd take them to an ice skating stadium, but they just wanted to hang out and play games and chill.

The next week I worked from home the week of Christmas, and in the evenings I completed a major project in my house that has been bugging me all year--staining my honey oak banister. It was a long tedious job, but I finished it, and my house again takes new life. One step at a time! By the time I am finished with all of my projects, my house will again be out of style!

I decided to bring Grandma Becker/Kovalska back to our Christmas by making some of the Christmas cookies she used to make for us.

She used to bring over half a dozen tins every year a couple of weeks before Christmas, all full of her Christmas cookie specialties. My favorite were the Hershey kiss cookies and of course church window cookies. It was a special time for my siblings and me--this was something we all loved, and then eventually fought over. :)

I also want to learn how to crochet the blankets she made for us and also make a patchwork quilt for my nieces with the fabric she left me.

It meant a lot to me to think of her as I followed recipes. I didn't know if anyone would actually appreciate the baked goods, but I was doing it for me.

On Christmas Eve, I had what felt like a million things to do before I left for Michigan--clean house for new guest arrival, finish wrapping presents, and finish the baking projects I started (which had now become a bigger job than I had anticipated.) But something made me pause that morning and slow down. We'd been having an unseasonably warm December--many days in the 60s! I decided to go for a mind-clearing, refreshing walk to take a moment and remember that the holiday should be appreciated in small quiet ways.

First I was chased down by a Pit Bull. The stupid pet owner had no collar or leash on it.

Then I saw a muskrat swimming in the pond.

Then I saw two swans swimming in another pond.

Then a silvery sun broke from behind the purple clouds.

Nice little moments, that's all.


I packed up and headed north! When I arrived, I unloaded all my goodies, and my mom was delighted to see Grandma's cookies!

We got dressed and I took her to church to meet Earl and family.

I don't go to church anymore for a reason.

It has to do with the majority of church goers.

I go to see my family, but I really don't get anything out of these modern, cool, hip churches where anything goes, including bringing starbucks, food, and selfie sticks into the sanctuary and eating all through the service, not to mention just showing up any old time.

Later we had Christmas Eve dinner and my cousin Johnny and his wife Cindy came over. It was pretty nice!

The next morning dad made French toast and venison sausage for my mom and me. Very nice and peaceful.

Earl's family came over that afternoon for dinner and unwrapping presents. Later we played poker. 

My mom and I stayed up past 2 a.m. talking. We walked outside to the full of moon of Christmas, and it truly was a blue moon. The whole night sky was shining blue, the ground and trees beneath glowing blue. I always want to remember it.

I went home the next day.

I was so sick of Christmas music I thought I'd puke!

I put in some Lord Huron and Lucinda Williams for my drive home and looked forward to spending time with Larry!

Merry Christmas!

Assholes bashed in my windows one night when Amanda and I went to Eagle Creek.

This is my mom riding the carousel

Kids happily playing Scrabble and Uno during a weekend at Aunt Amy's!

Abby "helps" me sew!

I enjoyed this sight a few nights before bedtime. Made me feel very peaceful and happy.

Jell-O cookies, just like Grandma (Grandbubba) used to make

Sunny warm Christmas Eve morning walk in my neighborhood

We Three Monkeys...

I made peppermint bark. Big hit!

My tree, nativity scene, presents store-bought and handmade, and homemade Christmas cookies. I love doing this!

My dad made us French toast and venison sausage for Christmas breakfast.

Lauren and Grace loved the sock monkeys. I was very touched because they carried them around all day!

My sock monkey and my Christmas Moose family--a relic from my past that I'm glad I kept.

I had to drive home with my ass on broken glass. Those asshole punks.

Larry loves the carousel

Grace smiling on the carousel

Making my grandma's church window cookies. They were a big hit with my mom, Earl, and my cousin Sara!

Thank you for a wonderful Christmas 2015!

Slip Sliding Away

Oh June and July, you've been hiding, from my life and my blog!

It hasn't felt much like summer this year. It rains constantly. Half of IN is in a flood state. We haven't been able to go camping since the first weekend of May, and with our trip just six weeks away, we really need practice!

Summer 2015 has looked like this:

Memorial Day Weekend, I was a workaholic around my house. I painted the fence around my back yard, I stained my deck, and I planted my garden. I also hosted several people in my artist's hostel that weekend. We also managed to check out my friend Curtis's show "Sidewaze Rain" at OnxyFest.

I had some friends that I haven't seen in a long time over for dinner on separate occasions.

I got an annual pass to Eagle Creek, and we go there whenever there is a window between storms. On sunny evenings, I love riding my bike there after the traffic dies down, staying long enough to watch the sun begin its descent over the reservoir, and pray that the guy who sings and plays banjo is not there to ruin the beautiful silence with his Appalachian songs that would sound fine on the porch of his own house. Just because you know how to play banjo does not mean that people want to hear it when they are out in the park. Some weirdo guy was playing a banjo on the Sheltowee Trace trail that runs through the Red River gorge, and coupled with the hillbillies and grody hipsters bivouac "back country" camping along the side of the river, it made for an unsightly passage. 

I spent a couple of weekends at Larry's, where we grilled, biked, and hiked--and got rained out each time. Twice we've been hiking in the forest when the heavens opened on us--and the green rain was so beautiful and peaceful.

I finally checked off an item that has been appeared on my annual to-do list for several years now:
See Lucinda Williams in concert!

The plan was to couple the concert in Bloomington with a weekend of camping. But guess what? It rained!

We met friends Deb and Brian at Upland and talked so long and laughed so hard that we lost track of time. GA seating would insure long lines and being stuck in the back of the theater, where I would no doubt be meant long lines. Being friendly meant I learned of a super-secret back entrance. Super secret back entrance meant we were 10th in the door. I ran for the stage and did not move from that spot for the next five hours. My throat was like sand, and I needed water, but I was afraid someone would take my spot at the edge of the stage. Larry was a trooper and hung right behind me the whole time, smiling and rocking out. After the concert, I realized he was right under the only working A/C vent.

It was hotter than balls that night. A storm was due but didn't quite land, so the air felt like bricks on fire. After two great opening acts, solo artist Matt someone from Austin, and Lucinda's band Buick 6, I tried to wait patiently for my first ever live-glimpse of The Queen of Lyrical Confessions, the master of the kohl eyeliner, the long legged, husky voiced, oft-rumored-to-be-moody Lucinda from the galley, and when she appeared, I audibly gasped! Thankfully she does not buy into this "make them beg for it" bullshit and didn't make us wait too long.

She started the set without fanfare, "Something Wicked This Way Comes," but seemed visibly agitated, and kept calling out the stage manager (without interrupting the performance.) I started to worry that maybe she was in one of her famous "moods." A few songs in, she finally threw her arms up and addressed us: "Hey guys. I'm sorry. It is hotter than f*ck in here!" She went on to tell us that her husband and sister were in the audience, and played one of my favorites, "Crescent City," a beautiful lyric about her life growing up and around the Highway 20 area of the Delta. It was then that she started to pick up on that vibe of Hoosier Hospitality, and it was a greeting she began to return in spades! 

I've read mixed reviews of her performances. Some have complained of surly, slurry, drunkenness, but I was always questioned that last part. Lu is a perfectionist about her music and her voice, and alcohol is an enemy of the vocal chords. I didn't believe it for a moment. Because she is someone to pour out her heart in lyrics without censure and then work herself into quite a frenzy in the studio, I can absolutely forgive her for not "leaving it all out on the floor." 

I know that for a very few singers, it's the song, the lyrics, and the music--not the production gimmicks and certainly not peacock-ing and posturing through a bombastic performance. She is definitely more comfortable in the studio where she she doesn't have to put her emotions on display.

She surprised me by referring to binder of lyrics for most songs, but later I learned that her stage fright has led her to forget lyrics, and she doesn't want to be in that predicament there. I connect completely with someone who does not love show boating, but who still wants to connect with her audience. As the night went on, she got more and more comfortable, and when she traded her acoustic guitar for her electric guitar, I knew what we were in for:

HONEY BEE!

And she totally rocked it, and then one of the best things that has ever happened to me in my entire life happened. I was rocking out in the front row, smiling ear to ear, loving it all, when she turned to me, smiled, nodded, and pointed at me! Yes, ladies and gentleman, I received the elusive Lucinda endorsement. I'm positive she meant, "I like you, girl!" Her guitarist, Stuart (who looked a lot like Steve Buscemi) was also really friendly and smiled at me all through the performance. I just marveled through his licks and chops, and I think he just noticed me appreciating his talent, and appreciated me appreciating it.

My favorite is when they singer tells you a little bit about how they wrote their songs. She gave us vivid accounts of the stories behind "Pineola," "Drunken Angel," "I Lost It," "Change the Locks," and "West Memphis," and more than ever I was fascinated by her process.

Encore: She sings "The Rising" by Bruce Springsteen.

Second Encore, she lets out this little love letter--"This here, this is so unusual. It's hotter than two rats fucking in a wool sweater, we're sweating our asses off, and you're rocking the roof off! And just a minute ago, we saw a huge cockroach in the galley. This here. This is a rock n roll experience! This is a gift that you're giving to me. We felt your energy right away, and Stu whispered to me three songs in, 'There's something about this crowd. They just really get it.' We needed this so much, and we will be back!" 

Then she added that, in case we're interested, as far as politics go, she's thinking that Bernie is looking pretty good.

We drove home at 1 a.m. after standing for five hours. She rocked us for almost two hours. I don't need to see a concert ever again. Larry was awesome, and became a true fan. He'd never heard of her until a few months earlier when he gifted me with her record Album "Down Where the Spirit Meets the Bone." He asked me to compile some songs that I thought she might sing at the concert so that he could sing along and really enjoy it. He listened to everyone of my CDs, read every jacket and liner note, and every article he could find on her. Like me, he did not like her instantly, but rather she grew on him slowly. It is truly wonderful to share something that is so my pertinent to my life--to my heart and mind--to the person who has my heart. We share a lot of interests, but we've never shared musical tastes. Now we do!

Thank you Lucinda! I can die now!


The next weekend we planned on camping in Yellowwood, but guess what? It rained like a son of a bitch, so we stayed in Indy. We pitched the tent Saturday night because it miraculously didn't rain, and we slept outside, trying to practice for our big trip. It took us a long time to set up the tent, and I had to text our pal Brian several times for tips and pointers. I made some really awesome camp food that I will never be able to duplicate out in wilderness, but oh well. The next day we decided to hike in one of our favorite IN parks, Turkey Run. It was flooded and muddy, and full of bored fat people who, judging by the dumpsters, all ate their weight in junk food that weekend. It was depressing. I really do no like IN camp grounds! They are parking lots of people who just sit there in their chairs and eat and drink. 

The next weekend I had Friday off for Independence Day! We headed to MI to see my family and have a mini-vacay on Thursday afternoon. I made up a dinner of French Meat Pie and Baked Macaroni & Cheese so my mom (who is still recovering from shoulder surgery--note! Do NOT EVER have shoulder surgery!) wouldn't have to cook. Afterwards we took a walk on the beach, or rather, what is left of the beach. :(  The lake is so high that there is almost no beach. 

Fri we walked the pier and Silver Beach and around St. Joe, and tried some wine samples at a new winery. (Not very good, oh well.) Then we headed down to Pier 33 to see if Larry's buddy was Mark was around. We found him on his new boat after we were waiting for him on his old boat, which he had sold. Ooops! It was fun surprising them and hanging out. Then we went back to my folks' house for a cookout then headed to the fireworks in Baroda with mom, Earl, Lori, and kids. 

We had a lot of fun at the fireworks. I never thought I'd say this, but we had to go to Baroda to get away from the white trash on Silver Beach. That place is just getting depressing on Fourth of July. Anyway, it was a really fun show, and we had fun doing some redneck watching in their ridiculous loud trucks. In the distance we could hear a honky-tonkish country-ish garage band, and something sounded so familiar. I finally realized they were singing "Super Freak" and Earl, Lori, and I cracked up. The kids (minus Luke of course, who sat in the car, just so embarrassed at being with his family in such a visible way) and I had a dance off, and we laughed so hard. 

Saturday we we exploring and found a cute little beach in a cute little town called Lakeside. How did I grow up in the area and never hear of it? We walked a couple of hours. Larry got heat stroke or something--dizzy, and nearly passed out. I asked a nearby family for some ice, and they gave us water, fruit icees, granola bars, and put up an umbrella over him. Unbelievable kindness! Once he felt better, we started back (We walked nearly to New Buffalo), when a cop on a four wheeler came up behind us. We thought maybe he was going to tell us on were on private property, but instead he wanted to escort us after the lady who helped us told him that Larry might need some assistance. Really nice people!

Saturday night we went to my Aunt Vickie/Uncle Dave's for a cookout and to visit with Brad and Kari and their respective families. It was really fun because the kids and I played in the alley where Earl and I used to play some forty years ago! I walked down a few houses to see my grandma and grandpa's house, and all of a sudden started crying. A lady came out and asked if I needed something, so I told her why I was crying. She was so sweet! She said that years ago, an old man had stood where I was standing, and was also crying, and told her that he had helped build that house as a boy and later moved into it with his wife. She told promised that she would always love and take care of the house--and she kept her promise. It's painted green with white trim and has flowers everywhere. It really does look cute!

Sunday we went to Grand Mere for a beach day. Packed a lunch, books, an umbrella, and had a wonderful day!

It wasn't quite as fun as the time we went a couple of years ago because we didn't have our bikes and we didn't have as much time, but I truly loved spending time with my nieces and nephews. My mom and I had some really nice late night talks too.

The next weekend we planned on camping in Yellowwood, but guess what? Rains caused flooding, so we couldn't go. Instead we went to the Fever game Friday night, preceded by wonderful pizza in the piazza at Giorgios! We had so much fun at the game, then walked around downtown afterwards. The weather was actually pretty nice. Saturday we took a really fun bike ride to Eagle Creek. We just laughed and talked and felt like kids. We stopped by the store and bought stuff for a cookout and cracked up trying to manage the grocery bags on our handlebars. 

My urban prairie looks great, but my garden is is sad sad shape. :( I've lost my ambition to start the projects I couldn't wait to start all winter. This is all my fault. Time slipped away--between bad weather and working quite a few weekends, I think I threw in the towel on myself. The few times that I found really great things to "trash-dive," I was walking and they had been claimed by the time I returned. I've started and quit many books because my mind is kind of racing and kind of set one thing, and I'm not quite sure what that one thing is.

On the upshot, I have been pretty loyal about my "getting in shape for hiking the Rocky Mountains" routine of long walks and cardio. I've made progress in other areas of my life, too. I don't know if I'll ever want to talk about that here, but I've been proud of the steps I've taken.  I don't want to act as if I have been doing nothing. It's just that you can't actually see the changes. I do hope, however, that people might notice a change. (There's a difference, honest.)

So Summer 2015, you have sort of slipped through my fingers, but then again, it's been quite wet. I still enjoy the quiet nights on my deck with iced tea or La Croix (I'm STILL not drinking!) and a book and notebook and the trees and my wonderful wonderful wonderful pet hummingbirds and my beautiful beautiful beautiful flowers.

One way to slow you down is to keep writing and to keep reading. I'll write more. I won't wait until I think I have something important to say. I'll let myself be surprised by what wants to be revealed. But I have to make the first move.

Okay, my turn!

Fading Out, Fighting Back, Losing Ground, Surrender

This is a blog about the second biggest thing in life: death

Or maybe the injustice we feel when death touches us unexpectedly. Or maybe, it's about suffering. 

A swift unexpected death releases the departed from suffering but perhaps prolongs that of the survivors, compounding the grief with confusing and often regrets. 

The promise of death in days, weeks, or months gives us more time to process the loss, address the regrets, thereby assuaging possible future guilt, but such a death is often coupled with unbearable suffering on the part of the afflicted. Watching a loved one suffer is another form of suffering, which can cause guilt and helplessness to the survivors.

My Aunt Gini was recently diagnosed with an aggressive cancer that was already in advanced stages. She was given months, maybe weeks, to live. Upon hearing the news, I made an impromptu visit to Michigan to spend time with her. Going to Michigan would mean missing the wedding of a dear friend, and although it was a hard decision at first, once I made up my mind, I felt peace. I write that not to give myself credit, but to help others who are faced with decisions like these. I knew she still had some good days left in her, and I wanted to spend time with her in those hours. Those are the hours that really count.

I was fully prepared for a very sad visit, but instead what we had was a nice time. By nice I mean quiet and meaningful. My cousins were all there, and Gini was in good spirits, and we all just talked and laughed. It was easy and peaceful, and it gave us all a happy memory. I can't imagine now that I might have missed such an opportunity.

I asked my mom to call me if her prognosis changed. Things have gotten worse. Once again, I changed plans in order to go to Michigan. The end was near, and I didn't want my next visit to be for a funeral. I prepared myself for the worst, and I guess you could say we got the worst. In two weeks, her body has mostly disintegrated. When we arrived, she was sleeping, but she looked like she was in agony. If I didn't know her and love her so much, I think the sight of her would have frightened me. It was exactly the look of living death. 

But yet, I didn't feel scared. She'd had a terrible morning of hallucinations, perhaps worsened by the drugs. She shouted in anger at her children and at the apparitions. She faced an onslaught of horrible images that seemed rooted in a deep spiritual battle.

I am not religious and I'm not sure I'm spiritual. My aunt is somewhat religious, although she didn't go to church or talk about religion. She kept seeing the devil in her hallucinations, and he was trying to get her. My mother suggested that this is Satan's last stand against humans to try to get them before they die.

When conversations like these come up, I find it is best not argue my position on matters of the afterlife. I've also learned that I don't necessarily have to pretend that I believe it. I think such visions would come to people who already believe in the devil or who are unsure of their faith. For people who don't believe such things, they might not see such visions. 

My aunt was always a worrier and perhaps paranoid, so these visions did not surprise me. My cousins frantically tried to calm her down, and I can imagine they were also horrified. 

Sara is possibly the most competent care giver I've ever seen. She has educated herself on the end stages, and she seemed prepared for each stage, including this one, and calmly told us what would most likely happen next, which would be a coma from which she does not awake.

Gini was not really conscious when I arrived because Hospice had given her sedatives to get her through the hallucinations. Sara said that in such cases, the hearing is the last sense to go, and that even when people in this state appear unconscious, it is believed they can hear you. We talked to Gini just a little, saying hello, saying we're here.

I felt like proclaiming a life-long love was not the right thing to do here. Since we don't go around in normal life proclaiming such things, doing so in these situations, to me would seem to indicate that you believe death is just around the doorstep. Implying such a thing didn't seem appropriate.

We were gathered in her presence for her, and I wanted my presence to also bring comfort to my cousins and my mom, and I felt a quiet love in the room though little was said.

There's a saying: Being There.

This was about Being There. Not necessarily doing anything, but just being present, because Being There is sometimes the most and best thing you can do.

While we gathered, I asked for a pen and paper to write her a note. My mom had wanted to have the family gather while Gini was alert for all of us to tell stories about Gini, recounting all the happy memories. People sometimes do this at funerals, and I liked my mom's idea to do it also while she was still with us. I think it allows the person to go to death with more peace and more love, and it gives the survivors a special gift too--the gift of having shared.

We didn't get to do this. Gini went downhill so fast. I knew I had to share with her the happiness she gave me, so I wrote it down. I wrote it down with out eloquence or poetry or metaphor or flowing prose. I wrote down the happy thoughts as they came to me, and I didn't even read it over after I wrote it, so I can't actually remember everything I said. I knew it wasn't good writing, but that made me realize it was what I needed to say, and was therefore the best writing--impulsive and true. I thought of handing it to Sara or Adam with a "Well, it will probably sound dorky," but I felt that would be asking them to give me reinforcement, and I didn't need it. Who in the world would judge words of love? I handed it to Sara, and she said, "I'm sure she will love it. You're such a good writer." I was so glad I didn't say something that might have prompted her to think she had to offer me reassurance.

I didn't write about death; I wrote about life, and I wrote about the gifts she gave us that will last our entire lives. I think it was good. I'm grateful I had the chance to write it, surrounded by love when I wrote it.

Gini came to for a few minutes, but couldn't really talk. She smiled and held my hand. We didn't keep her up long, and then we left to give my cousins some rest.

Later I got a note from Todd's wife that they read it to her and that it made Gini happy and was meaningful to my cousins. It's good to express love to someone when they can still hear it.

When we came home, my dad seemed to think I would be shaken by the sight of Gini. I really wasn't. I didn't avert my eyes when I realized that she already looked like death. I had to look at her. I had to calm myself. I had to look in love and look past the pain and the grim vision death can present.

If it were my mother or immediate family member, I don't know if I would have had the strength to face it calmly. I can't imagine what my cousins are going through right now. On top the inevitability of losing their mother at a relatively young age (66), they are also seeing her suffer both physically and mentally. It is extremely difficult for them, and they've had no experience in this, and yet, they are rising to the occasion, working together, and keeping the focus on getting Gini calm and comfortable.

A few years ago, I had a play in the Spirit & Place Festival, and part of the festival requirement was having a public conversation. The play featured a man in a nursing home who lived with regrets about how he treated his wife (deceased) and estranged son. I invited a faculty member of the University of Indianapolis Council on Aging to be a guest panelist, and something she said helped me change the way I see aging.

She said that people fight aging and see it as inherently bad and merely as a precursor to death. She said that in her experience in working with the elderly and with legislation on behalf of the elderly, she has come to see it aging not as a sentence of arbitrary passing of time until death, but as a beautiful phase of life. Just changing that one word "last" to "next" helped me relax. The next phase of life, not the last phase of life. And I need to relax. Aging and dying and the thought of yourself or a loved one going through either makes most people nervous and mentally fight against it, which results in inner conflict in what is ultimately a losing battle. Why exhaust ourselves at the end. What if we could take a deep breath instead? What if we walk slowly into that phase, noting the details and feeling gratitude and curiosity instead of being angry that we are getting old? 

There are a lot of beautiful and inspiring poems about fighting death, and I always thought I was in that camp, that I would indeed. "Rage, RAGE! against the dying light!"

I still find those poems inspiring, but I have decided to attribute that battle cry to living rather than to dying. 

How can I live more meaningfully? I have decided that the best way for me to live is to slow down and stop trying to do so much in life. To un-busy myself. To stop putting value on certain experiences. To stop thinking they are more valuable than merely necessary experiences...for example, missing out on a huge party wedding celebration with friends and fun-loving young friends to go sit in a silent still room that is, to put it bluntly, filled with pending death. 

To live fully is to understand what you value in life. 

If I live fully, I will have no reason to rage when the light starts to dim.

When you see a loved one dying, you think of the other people in your life. Have you assigned them their full value in your scheme of life? It only recently occurred to me how lucky I am to still have both of my parents who are both in very good health and very good spirits. Now is the time. 

I have been guilty of confusing fun and unusual experiences for a good, well spent life. I had those wild years. I sacrificed time with loved ones to have adventures on my own. I am grateful for those adventures as they helped me become who I am today and on days when I question my life, they give me memories and confidence that I did not squander. But I have felt the need to have such experience fade the past few years in favor of spending time with family and close friends and myself doing little things that make me happy rather than big things that get me noticed.

I've made so many wrong choices in my life, and I know I will continue to make mistakes. As I get older and lose more people to death, I understand so much more fully that certain people leave a hole when they leave. They take with them an era that can never be relived or occupied again. It's like it's locked away, and you can see it, but you can't ever touch it or change it.

 I don't want to experience that hole coupled with the realization that I didn't appreciate the person who left it while he or she was still here. I am today grateful that I know the full value of quiet rooms on sunny Saturdays full of people who don't talk but who say a lot.

And I don't want to die myself realizing that I didn't do everything I wanted to do. I will always have the drive to accomplish and to create, but I care so much less now about how people perceive me. I want to experience people and myself, I don't want to worry about image or legacy I must craft. 

I must make the way I live help me go gently into that good dark night.

Merry Christmas ME-eve

It's Christmas Eve-Eve, but this year I'm calling it Christmas Me-eve. Tomorrow I'll be with family, last night I was with my partner, but tonight it's just me, and I'm celebrating.
 
I've spent a lot of this year being sad and worried about the future. I've had some good times too, but this year has been different. Or, maybe I just measure things differently now.
 
You know what I'd like for Christmas? I'd like my eyes to light up like a Christmas tree when I see someone I love, meet someone new, or happen upon some little happy surprise in life. I'd like more little happy surprises, the kind that are just waiting for me wherever they are and wherever I go.
 
I think my eyes have lit up like this in the past. I see it in pictures when I was with friends or family. And I want more times like that. But I also want them to light up all on their own, and I want the source to come from inside, not outside. This is what I call renewable energy.
 
It's the last week of the year. Tomorrow I'll be with my family, and I'll get to have Christmas the way a kid has Christmas because I'll have four of my nieces and nephews around. I'll get to see their smiles as they rip open presents. Even better, I'll see them the night before, when, even better than a smile, their eyes will be alight just thinking about ripping open presents.
 
But I'll know it's more than that, because it was more than that for me when I was their age, forty years ago. I'll know that it's also about snow and magic and twinkling lights and bright stars and cousins and playing in my Aunt Jeanette's attic and cookies and carols and black and white movies on television and feeling more love on that day than any other and knowing that it's all so much bigger than I am, with a tail as big as a kite, and I'll reach for it and never quite touch it, which makes me reach all the higher year after year..
 
I'll see them in church when the lights go down, and each candle is lit, and their thoughts turn to a world way outside of their own, and they'll see the magic and know that it's not just the presents but the love.
 
I'll see me as their eyes sparkle, me as a little girl, in 1973, in church on Christmas Eve, singing "Away in a Manger," at the Christmas service. And then I'll see my sister with her long brunette hair dressed like an angel, standing in the balcony over all the church, her arms stretched to heaven, and my heart will swell up and I'll whisper to all around, "That's my sister."
 
I grew up and took Christmas with me to England, Saudi Arabia, South Carolina, Utah, Tennessee, and Indiana. I spent many years with someone who hated this time of year. I let that person ruin it for me for many years. I purposely froze my heart, not allowing it back in, out of fear of being thought I was stupid for loving it. Then that person left. And I became even colder, cold with resentment. For years, I would flee the country on Christmas in an attempt to avoid its notice. Yet it kept finding me. One year, it even found me in a barrio in Chile.
 
And then a few years ago, it found me in my own home. It caught me unawares, it knocked on my door, and having no other guests darken my door step, I welcome it in, offering it a meager hospitality. It lit a little fire in me that started to grow again. And my heart thawed and it found a safe place in me again.
 
 
 
What kind of presents will I rip open in 2014? I think it all depends on how good I will have been and how generous I will have been with myself.
 
I guess I've made my wish.
 
I wish for me to be more generous with me in 2014, which means I better be good.



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I wonder if anyone else grew up on this album, Sunshine and Snowflakes?

It's out of print, but what a magical time 1973 was. And 2013 for that matter.