It's official

I hate being cold! Winter offers very little to me in the way of comfort. Nonetheless, it does have a certain beauty as you can see from this Christmas gift in my garden.

Christmas Blues

Yesterday I had what I can only call "the Christmas Blues". I'm not sure what brought them on but they were prompted to stay by cold, dreary weather and a stuffy head. My mother used to say that Christmas was bittersweet. As a child I thought that odd. There we were, surrounded by tinsel, presents, yummy food and good music, so where was the down side? But she was an alien in a foreign land, as scripture says. We'd lived overseas ever since I could remember and she even before that - we were sojourners. It was the only way of life I knew, I didn't find it odd. But she knew another in her youth, and she missed the family and friends that filled those years but who she had left behind. (My mother would never have seen it, but her story is that of Ruth, only she followed her husband rather than than her mother-in-law - she'd never have done that! But I digress.) I suppose now I have more leavings than I care to think about and memories of them, for some reason, are stronger at Christmas, which, indeed, makes it bittersweet.

Here's to all those I've left behind. Cheers!

It's Christmas Day!

Happy Christmas to all my readers! (All 3 of you...LOL)

What's in a name

Earlier this year some of the residents at my dad's nursing home formed a choir. It's made up of about 15 people who sang in their church choirs, community chorus and who just plain love to sing. My father is the only man! They rehearse weekly and give occasional concerts for the other residents and family members.

Nursing home residents live there not by choice but out of necessity due to physical or mental deterioration from disease, trauma or age. However, the choir can sound amazingly good - at times. Now, it's not the Morman Tabernacle Choir, but what they lack in talent they make up in enthusiasm. But this post isn't about singing it's about living life to its fullest no matter what the obstacles. It's about remaing positive and joyful even under the worst of situations. It's about Angela. Angela suffered a stroke a couple of years ago that has left her paralysed down one side and wheelchair bound. Her speech consists of three phrases: "No" "Yes" and "I know." But Angela can hum, and so when the opportunity presented itself, she joined the Tara Gospel Bells. And you can see her in the second row, chin tucked in as she hums her part. She projects her pleasure through her smile and demeanor, and her enthusiasm for life is contagious. Her parents must have known something when they named her!

"So, you don't like the blue one?"

Why do jokes about guilt always involve Jewish mothers? I'm here to tell you that guilt is the prerogative, if not an imperative, of ALL mothers. Yes, even those who think they are raising their children to be independent, free thinkers. Instilling guilt is handed down as part of the family tradition. Our mothers learned it from their mothers who learned it from theirs, who learned...you get the idea. The mother of a Catholic friend would say to each child as they were heading out, "Remember you are a daughter of this household and a child of God." Guilt! My mother was a past master at instilling guilt: "I'm so disappointed in you. What will your father say?" But to her credit, she was quite oblivious to it. When I finally confronted her (in my twenties), she was genuinely remorseful. In fact, I felt awful about...oh, wait...more guilt! And I inherited it. Having no children to heap my inheritance on, I often choose friends (sorry!). And of course there is always my sister, who, at times, I'd like to feel guilt about not being close enough to share in parental caregiving (sorry, Sis). But really, the lesson is simple - only we can make ourselves feel guilty. So if you are ever one of the recipients of my largesse, simply smile, decline and walk away. Sure it will hurt but in time, I'll recover - no really, you don't need to worry about me. (See how easy it is? )

And now for the rest of the story: A mother gave her son two shirts, identical in all but color. One was green, one blue. He goes into his bedroom to try them on and comes out wearing the green one, and his mother says, "So..."

It's one of my favorite stories!

A random thought about deadlines...

Are deadlines moving closer together or am I becoming more scattered the older I become? Whichever it is, it's freaking me out! Have I fooled others and even myself all these years into believing that I'm organized? Someone recently told me that you can't be creative and keep to a routine. I certainly know I have trouble with routine, so does that make me creative? Or am I simply disorganized? How does one declutter one's brain? Just a random thought squeezing through the very congested lanes of my gray matter.

A not-so-final note

I'm just back from Susie's funeral - what a great celebration! Over 600 of us singing her "fave" hymns and renewal songs. Listening to the beautifully sung Webber Pie Jesu, sharing the Bread and Wine around the altar that Susie, as deacon, would have set. "The homilist reminded us that Susie's legacy lives on, her love for family and friends lives on. She is not gone, not forgotten. One of the last things she did, he told us, was to bless those gathered around her. What a gift!

Family members each sported a pink ribbon on their dress or lapel acknowledging the breast cancer that claimed Susie's earthly life. In fact, looking over the congregation I saw numerous others - women and men - wearing pink, each in her or his very own shade. So many of us have been touched by this incidious disease. How many more funerals must I attend before we find a cure?

Goodbye and farewell

Early Wednesday morning a friend lost her battle with breast cancer. It was a very long war with several battles, actually. The thing is, though, when you were with her during any of that time you didn't know she was at war. She was always upbeat, smiling. She genuinely took pleasure in life. She was a gentle warrior on other fronts as well. In 1985, she became the first woman to be ordained a deacon in our diocese (women's diaconal ordination had been approved in the 1950s, mind you), and she never stopped quietly nudging the local church authorities to allow women full access. She took her servant ministry very seriously. Having married into one of the well-heeled local families, she had ready access into our high society's drawing rooms where she rarely missed an opportunity to talk about the plight of the less fortunate and to "encourage" some philanthropic giving!  And she was very hands-on, too, ministering around town to the sick, the poor, and the needy. I remember her arriving at my door many years ago with an entire roasted chicken two days after I arrived home from a hospital stay (that was nearly as good as my friend PK coming over and scrubbing my bathtub!), "Not staying," she said. "Just thought this might come in useful." It seems that she died in the same manner she lived, with compassion for others - quickly, quietly surrounded by people she loved and who loved her. They will miss her, we all will miss her, in the midst of celebrating a life well lived.

Hello Who?!

"Hello, Gorgeous!" You talking to me? Surely not on this drizzly, cold bad hair day in December. Okay, so it's only the name of a hair salon but who cares, it makes me smile. I recently changed hairstylist (Lor' that's like a divorce and remarriage!). I  thought it just a cutesy name, you know, one of those silly things that hair stylists do to entice customers, along the lines of "Curl Up & Dye". But there's something to be said for it, 'cos it  really lifts your spirits when some guy answers the phone with, "Hello, Gorgeous!" Sure it's pure fantasy and only last a minute but who cares - it's my fantasy!

Happy Birthday JK!

Here's to a long and happy life! Just think of all the wisdom you've accumulated - may it serve you well.

Cats and Cupboards

What is it with cats and dark places? The other morning I seemed to spend most of my getting-ready-for-the-office time chasing George out of closets and cupboards. And if I lose him in the house, I can usually find him curled up in the rag bin at the back of the pantry. I remember once when I was a teenager we were looking after a cat that belonged to friends gone on holiday. (At this point, I can see my sister frowning and thinking she doesn't remember this - it's okay, Sis, your memory's not going, you were away at college.) He disappeared for TWO days and we were panicking. I mean this was a pure bred, pure white beauty, the pride of his human family. We searched high and low with no luck until my mother opened the linen closet and found him curled up asleep. We'd looked in there but white on white doesn't show. When we woke him, he had that "What's your problem?" cat-itude that you either love or hate. So where is this random thought going? It's just that there are days - such as recently - where I'm so busy that my head's spinning, and I'd so like to crawl into the rag bin, curl up and sleep for a couple of days. That's all, nothing deep or profound.