God Jul (Merry Christmas)

My family didn’t have much when I was growing up.  We didn’t get a lot in the way of presents but my mom always somehow made the Christmas season magical.  She was a stay-at-home mom, but worked some odd jobs all year - making calls, or stuffing envelopes - to make enough money to give us one special holiday experience.  The Radio City Spectacular, the Vienna Choir Boys at Lincoln Center, the Rockefeller tree lighting, or a Broadway show are some of my favorite childhood memories.  And although we didn’t get much under the tree, our home was always filled with festive handmade decorations and the smell of baking almond cookies.

I think Martha and I did a pretty good job of also giving our daughters a magical Christmas. But to be honest, it was all so hectic - we both worked full time, splitting shifts because we didn’t have any daycare help (and no Amazon delivery) -  I missed a lot of the magic in all of the frenetic chaos of putting it all together.

But now I have grandchildren - 2 granddaughters, too young yet to get excited, and 2 grandsons, both three years old and at an age of wonderment.   And I get to experience the magic again, without all the work.  We have made snowmen, baked cookies, made tree ornaments and seen Santa.  

We went on a special trip on the Polar Express and had hot chocolate, got our tickets punched and received Christmas bells from Santa. 

I’d like to say that the best part was watching the joy in the kid’s eyes, but I think I might have been even more bedazzled than they were.  There is just something so magical about this time of year.

We do not celebrate a religious Christmas, although Martha usually attends some mass with old friends.  I tend to focus on the simple Scandinavian traditions of my youth - candles, reading books while sipping hot chocolate, and almond cookies.   

However you choose to celebrate this season (or not) I wish you all the childlike joys of magic and warmth and laughter.   And cookies.  Lots and lots of cookies.

Full of Grace

Well, this has certainly been a tough, gut wrenching week.  And apparently getting worse with each new appointment. 

Knowing that this nightmare is going to continue ad nauseam, I am taking measures to protect my inner peace by turning off all national news for a while and quickly clicking out of anything where I see he who must not be named.   I’ve been taking a lot of walks. And naps.

I also recognize that I have much be be grateful for:

• Although I am a queer woman (two strikes)  I am white which gives me a wealth of unearned privilege. 

• I, and my immediate family, all live in blue states. 

• Anticipating the republican win, my state just overwhelmingly enshrined existing civil rights protections, including abortion and trans rights, into our Constitution, to add an extra layer of protection against attacks.

• Although Martha and I collect Social Security, thanks to our pensions, we do not need it to live comfortably.

• Our grandchildren appear to be healthy and will most likely not need any special programs from our schools.  

When the shock and sadness of this national nightmare wears off, I’ll be fine. And I am grateful. But I don’t know how to help all those who will suffer, now and for generations to come. 

But love is not going to be enough. The trail just got steeper, but the climb continues. 

The Ring

Long ago I lost everything I owned and learned a valuable lesson about attachment to things.  Unfortunately I live with a packrat so our home is still filled with so much ‘stuff’ it makes my teeth rattle, but I continually sift through my belongings and pare down to the essential.  To this end, while Martha was out of town for a while, I decided to tackle my dresser which always seems to collect all the detritus of my life.  Out went holey socks, worn out underwear,  empty chapstick tubes, old grocery receipts, used up gift cards, etc.   

And then I opened an old jewelry box.  These days I only wear my wedding ring and occasionally some gold hoop earrings I keep in a dish, so I can’t even remember the last time I opened this box.  It felt like an archeological dig - a newspaper article from when I left my last job 35 years ago, NYC subway tokens (discontinued in 2003), miscellaneous foreign coins and euros, assorted safety pins, an obituary of a dear friend who died decades ago, many buttons in little packets that are attached to clothes in case you lose one - clothing I have long since gotten rid of.  Five ‘evil eye’ Mati stones brought back from a trip to Greece. Five?  I wonder what I was afraid of . . .

Then something that stopped me in my tracks. In the very bottom corner, wrapped in tissue paper, was the silver commitment ring I wore during my years with Daphne, long before legal marriage was a possibility.  I was already feeling the vulnerability and vague ache of the September trauma anniversary and I curled into bed along with a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings and memories too long forgotten and/or buried.  

The foremost of these was guilt.  Not survivor’s guilt.  No, years and years of therapy had gotten me through most of the constant rumination and re-play of fault.  Well, mostly.  But guilt that I have successfully moved on with my life.   I can’t even remember the last time I went to visit Daphne’s grave.  I have no doubt that she would have wanted me to be happy and to share my life with others.  But somehow, in the midst of my current life, I have spent very few moments honoring her and her impact on my life.  It was the guilty recognition that her memory is waning as I spend my life with others..  

Anger. This has been a recurring feeling every time I listen to politicians working to remove women’s reproductive rights.  The ring reminded me that Daphne took her own life when she found she was pregnant by her rapist(s).  Of course I didn’t learn this until much later given that her family had nothing to do with me. Times were different then, but how it pisses me off that we are returning to them.  

And finally, joy.  Twirling the ring around my fingers (I can no longer get it on since I’m long past my skinny days).  Smiling, I began to think about all the lessons Daphne taught me that have brought me to where I am today.  Peace with my sexuality, the comfort of intimacy, the trust of true relationships, kindness, laughter, and the “fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke” mentality.  I know I would not be experiencing the joy I have today without her influence on my yesterday. 

Now found, I’m not sure what to do with the ring.  Strangely I can’t even remember when I took it off.  Still, it feels odd to have it so tucked away that it has gone unremembered for decades.  My therapist used to always tell me that the river of time only flows in one direction.  There’s no going back to change things.   But, like the Sept. 11th “Never Forget” signs that are so prevalent here in New York this month, I feel like I want to do something.  I just don’t know what, but I want it to reflect my incalculable gratitude. 

4 under 3

 

We took our annual family  trip this year to a seaside town in Maine.  I say it was a trip, rather than a vacation, because we shared a house with 4 children.  Two 2+ year boys affectionately known as Category 5 and the Tornado.  A one year old girl who crawls faster than I can walk and got into everything in our non-child proofed rental, and one 6 week old girl who was velcroed to her mom, constantly cluster feeding.  Chaos. 

We chose Maine as it is driveable for all of us and we needed every available inch of car space for car seats, strollers, beach wagons, blow-up toddler beds, bassinets, a high chair and boxes of diapers, wipes, snacks and other assorted baby and beach paraphernalia.  That we willingly put ourselves through this is a testament to the human spirit.

Still, we managed to do some fun things - an antique trolley car ride and a seaside open air train ride.  Lots of quaint shops that always sold salt water taffy and fudge.  Picturesque lighthouses and amazing oceanside seafood.  And hours and hours of late afternoon hours at the beach.  

Maine water is a little chilly for me to do more than splash my feet but to see Category 5 and the Tornado form the perfect storm - throwing themselves into the water, building and smashing sand castles with such exuberance while my 1 year old granddaughter simply crawled in the sand, laughing every time a wave came and knocked her over - it all just filled me with such joy and nostalgia for my beach bum childhood. 

We ended our trip with a few more pounds around our waists, even more pounds of sand in everything we owned, and some great memories.  Then after the chaos of trying to shove all the gear back into the cars, babies into car seats, and get back on the road, I got a text “where shall we go next year?”  I’m going to need a few days to recuperate before I even think about that.

Thoughts During a Catholic Funeral

I recently attended the funeral service of a woman Martha was very close to.  I am never very comfortable with these events but the woman was elderly and had been ill for some time, so not a surprise but still much sadness.  I went to support Martha.  The service took place in a Catholic church and I think I may have been the only non-Catholic person there.  I surmise this because everyone else knew the routines - sign of the cross, genuflect, how to receive communion, etc.

I sat there, clueless, holding Martha’s hand and quietly taking in the sights and sounds.  Pretty hymns, headache producing incense, and Jesus’ dead body hanging on a cross - which sent me down the rabbit hole.

I am heartbroken for folks today whose worst moments are caught publicly and then repeatedly shown to the world on social media.  How often I read about some woman’s rape that was live streamed and can’t imagine how absolutely soul destroying that must be.  I literally tremble just thinking about it. How grateful I am that phones were not an option on the worst day of my life.  

My daughter is a Middle School social worker and deals with similar issues daily.  The kid whose bullying is filmed so others can laugh, the girl that sends nude pictures to her boyfriend only to find they are being passed around the school, the kid who suffers some embarrassment now immortalized on social media.  The psychological impact must be devastating.  It’s no wonder that kids who experience this repeated victimization have such high rates of depression and suicide.  And I wonder about the emotional deadening impact to the folks who view these atrocious videos.  

I sat in a Catholic church, looking at a near naked man, on what had to be the worst day of his life.  Stripped, beaten and nailed to a cross.  A man’s murdered body put on display.  I am told this is to remind Catholics that Jesus suffered and died for them.  But it just made me very, very sad for anyone whose suffering is made public, open for all to see, which is all too common these days   

The Lovely Month of May

 It’s May, it’s May.  The lovely month of May.  Well, it’s almost over and we have been busy.

First was the pool opening.  Unfortunately, when they took the winter cover off, there was next to no water in it, indicating a leak.   Fine, we were overdue for a new liner so we ordered one - but it was definitely not in the budget for this year.

I finally got all the fencing and layout complete for my newly relocated veggie garden.  The old location was not getting enough sun due to my neighbor’s trees, but I had spent years amending the soil there so I’m not sure how well these plants will do in the mostly sandy soil.

Then my lawn tractor died.  After troubleshooting the easily fixable, I went and bought a new one.  Yet another unbudgeted expense.  Arggghhh.

We had a lovely Mother’s Day brunch with the oldest daughter, and opened an unexpected gift from both girls- tickets for a John Legend concert - and they will be going with us.  Girls' night out - like old times. 

Then the folks came to install the new pool liner and found this gaping hole.  Uh oh.  Another unexpected expense.  To do the repair they had to pump water from the under drain (we have a very high water table) But the drain pipe was buried under my new raised veggie bed, which was mostly destroyed when they built a connection to it.  Some onions might still make it but the beets and carrots are goners.  

Meanwhile our oldest daughter had an out-of-town wedding and we offered to babysit her two kids.  The 2 1/2 year old has the nickname “The Tornado” and his 10 month sister is now crawling and putting everything into her mouth.  We couldn’t blink without something happening that required attention.  Fortunately nothing that required a 911 call, but still, we were exhausted.

And now we are waiting for the call to rush to Boston for the birth of our youngest daughter’s second child.  Our bags are packed and we have cancelled or postponed any obligations.  We plan on going for a week to help with her almost 3 year old, and then our newest grandchild - a baby girl.  

May.  Our weather has been beautiful, our wallets emptied, and our energy depleted.  It’s all good.

Lastly, has anyone ever seen this?  All of a sudden, I have mushrooms growing in my flower boxes.  And not just a few.  Every morning there are at least 8 new shrooms in each box.  I pull them out and they magically reappear the next morning.  Any suggestions?

One step forward, two steps back

This year has not been particularly productive so far.

I had challenged myself to write at least one blog post every month.  Not that I have many interesting things to say, but more to document my personal journey through this strange thing we call life.  But here we are, past mid-March and I already failed.   This is February's entree.  Now I have to play catch-up.

I had gained a few too many pounds over the holidays and so promised myself to lose 1 pound a month.  One!  How hard could that be?  Instead, I gained 2 pounds in January and didn’t lose an ounce in February.   Yep, I wanted to lose 6 pounds, only 8 to go!

Every year I save seeds from my deck flower boxes to save hundreds of dollars for the next year's planting.  Mid-February I went to the basement to start the petunia seeds only to discover that mice had found them first.  

Last year I decided to move my veggie garden to an area that received more sun.  I reinstalled all the chain-link fencing and ran chicken wire along the bottom since critters decimated my garden last year.  Then this February, we had unseasonably warm weather so I decided to go rototill the garden to get a head start on this season’s prep.  But I ran the tiller into the chicken wire, thereby ripping it all off the fence and so badly wrapping it around the tiller tines that it took days (and many bloody knuckles) to get it all unwound. And now I have to reinstall it all.  Yay me!

Yet still excited about the warm weather to get a head start on yard work, I bought a replacement blade for my edger.  Then, installing it, I turned the bolt so hard that I broke the whole shaft. Now I need to buy a whole new edger.  

 

For all the anticipation that 60-degree weather in February brought, I think I’d have been better off hibernating until April.