I don't know about you, but try as I might, there is still a rush to get "ready " for Christmas.
The presents to buy - no matter how small or simple - the house to clean, the food to prepare.
The Journey of Advent. Preparation.
As I sit at the computer this morning, waiting for Nattie B, one of my precious Grand babies to arrive, I think about the Journey.
We Americanize our version of Mary traveling in the dessert on a donkey, but no matter what culture it is in, all women can identify with the feelings of a very pregnant woman traveling with her husband while she awaits the birth of her child. We can identify with the necessary preparations tangible and emotional. And to be traveling? Away from our mothers, our friends, our home.
And then, the journey finally drawing to a close and to be told there is no room at the inn! UGHHHH. How exhausting.
And still the time was drawing near. And the stars were shining and the stable was clean and the cattle were lowing. Have you ever heard cattle lowing? I have and it is as soothing as a mothers lullaby. God provides.
Advent is drawing to a close. The time is drawing near. The time for preparation is ending. Have you made room at the inn of your heart to welcome this baby?
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Monday, December 21, 2009
The moment of UGHHHHHHHHHHH
It wasn't what I thought it would be; this day of advent days. I have had several tugs in unexpected directions the last few weeks and have left shopping to the end. My tree is up, beautifully decorated and the needles are falling at an alarming rate, but in the absence of an earthquake - it will last. My nativities are carefully placed all over the house, the red and green table linens are readied, the cranberry relish is sweetening itself in the fridge and the star is hung on the porch. My house and my heart are ready for Christmas but, I have no presents to give. So, today was the day.
I was actually looking forward to it. I am not a shopper, but I had all the right ingredients for this day of choosing gifts to go perfectly AND, the weather had held. We did not get the expected Nor'easter and the sun was shining brightly on this shortest day of the year. I had to get a few non holiday related details tended to first, but I expected to be in the shoppes by noon. HA HA HA to HO HO HO!
The phone rang and rang and loose ends were unraveling instead of being tied up, but still, my mood held. The day was young. I would be out of the house by noon. I just had to stop at the post office, the bank and the dry cleaner and stop at the hospital to help a friend in need, then I could shop. No Problem. It was four o'clock when I entered the first store. FOUR O'CLOCK, and still I was smiling. Everything I had done all day long, I had done joyfully, and now, I would shop with glee.
Eight hours later, bags and boxes unloaded from the car, garbage out for pick up, recycling sorted, dogs watered and walked, I finally headed to bed. And then, I remembered and the smile was gone. My warm and wonderful king size bed, was unmade. The sheets were in the dryer. UGHHHHHHHHHH.
I was actually looking forward to it. I am not a shopper, but I had all the right ingredients for this day of choosing gifts to go perfectly AND, the weather had held. We did not get the expected Nor'easter and the sun was shining brightly on this shortest day of the year. I had to get a few non holiday related details tended to first, but I expected to be in the shoppes by noon. HA HA HA to HO HO HO!
The phone rang and rang and loose ends were unraveling instead of being tied up, but still, my mood held. The day was young. I would be out of the house by noon. I just had to stop at the post office, the bank and the dry cleaner and stop at the hospital to help a friend in need, then I could shop. No Problem. It was four o'clock when I entered the first store. FOUR O'CLOCK, and still I was smiling. Everything I had done all day long, I had done joyfully, and now, I would shop with glee.
Eight hours later, bags and boxes unloaded from the car, garbage out for pick up, recycling sorted, dogs watered and walked, I finally headed to bed. And then, I remembered and the smile was gone. My warm and wonderful king size bed, was unmade. The sheets were in the dryer. UGHHHHHHHHHH.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Mary, Joseph and a donkey welcome a baby
I love the Christmas story. I actually love the Santa part too, but that is such a small part of the celebration. I love getting the house ready. I love the smell of the freshly cut pine tree in the living room. I love the brightly colored bows sitting in a big basket waiting expectantly to be chosen for packages that I never seem to get around to wrapping in time to worry about ribbons and bows. I love garland; the star garland and the cranberry beads. I like real cranberries and popcorn threaded to put on the "cemetery trees" (another story). Some years we wrap the tree in raw wool spun into long fluffy ropes. I like how the bird ornaments look on the wool. I even like the eco damaging tinsel though we rarely use it any more.
But most of all, I love nativities. Nativities serve to remind us of the Christmas story, and that is, after all, what and why we celebrate. I love to pick up my nativity pieces and handle them before I choose where to place them. I have the whole Avon pure white nativity complete with the Holy Family and the donkey who carried Mary. It includes the Angel of the Lord, the shepherds, wise men, camels, and sheep. And the cow. My daughter worked really hard to get me the cow, a Christmas gift from her heart.
This year, since my grand baby is only two, this beautiful but breakable nativity rests on the mantle piece out of reach but I have always made sure that the little ones had a nativity set of their own. Felt, wood, plastic, resin, we had lots of them over the years and have the remnants of many with one piece or another missing. I always felt it was important for the kids to play act with them. They would move Mary and play with Baby Jesus ( we never held the tradition that Jesus couldn't be in the manger until Christmas though we do have a neighbor boy whose family holds that tradition and we thing he may be responsible for a few missing babies).
I think I have 15 nativity sets though I haven't unwrapped all of them yet this year so I can't count. The pure white one is my favorite for many reasons, but I really love them all. I have a beautiful locally hand-carved wooden one with no adornment and it feels precious in my hands. When I feel the curved figures, I feel close to the expectant woman somehow. This one feels earthy and real. My father was a wood worker, a craftsman really, so this one makes me think of him.
And I have one that is rough, gray cement like material that has a coarse black wire stable. I put that one on black cloth with shredded off- white paper that looks like straw. The short crude figures touch my heart in a way the others don't.
And I have tiny ones. A little pewter one I leave on the piano all year long. It is all one piece and fits in the palm of my hand. My brother Carl gave it to me years ago and it keeps the Christmas story in my heart throughout the seasons but it also makes me think of Carl when it catches my eye. I like that.
I even have a Playmobile nativity. It is the most work to set up with it's pop up cardboard background and the zillion pieces to be put together. I am hoping Axel who is now eleven will put it up for me tomorrow.
There are more. Smooth, softly painted ceramic ones, cheap dime store and catalogue versions that are tucked on every surface in every room upstairs and down for the kids to play with whether baby Jesus is missing or not.
Tonight I put up my metal one. It is copper and silver. It has a very different feel than any of the others. It is shiny. I remember the first time I saw it and knew I wanted it in my collection.
I love to look at each Mary, each Joseph and each swaddled baby and think about the story over and over. I have a Hummel Nativity and in that one Mary is riding on the donkey and Joseph is leading her. The colors are magnificent but my favorite part of that one is the donkey. How grateful a pregnant Mary must have been for a donkey to ride on as they traveled to Bethlehem.
I am 59 years old and still, every year for Christmas, my mother gives me a book, a piece of jewelry and a doll. I am so very grateful that for so many years my "dolls" were Nativity sets.
I am so grateful that my home is so full of these beautiful reminders of the true cause of celebration. I am so blessed to hold the Christmas story in my heart.
But most of all, I love nativities. Nativities serve to remind us of the Christmas story, and that is, after all, what and why we celebrate. I love to pick up my nativity pieces and handle them before I choose where to place them. I have the whole Avon pure white nativity complete with the Holy Family and the donkey who carried Mary. It includes the Angel of the Lord, the shepherds, wise men, camels, and sheep. And the cow. My daughter worked really hard to get me the cow, a Christmas gift from her heart.
This year, since my grand baby is only two, this beautiful but breakable nativity rests on the mantle piece out of reach but I have always made sure that the little ones had a nativity set of their own. Felt, wood, plastic, resin, we had lots of them over the years and have the remnants of many with one piece or another missing. I always felt it was important for the kids to play act with them. They would move Mary and play with Baby Jesus ( we never held the tradition that Jesus couldn't be in the manger until Christmas though we do have a neighbor boy whose family holds that tradition and we thing he may be responsible for a few missing babies).
I think I have 15 nativity sets though I haven't unwrapped all of them yet this year so I can't count. The pure white one is my favorite for many reasons, but I really love them all. I have a beautiful locally hand-carved wooden one with no adornment and it feels precious in my hands. When I feel the curved figures, I feel close to the expectant woman somehow. This one feels earthy and real. My father was a wood worker, a craftsman really, so this one makes me think of him.
And I have one that is rough, gray cement like material that has a coarse black wire stable. I put that one on black cloth with shredded off- white paper that looks like straw. The short crude figures touch my heart in a way the others don't.
And I have tiny ones. A little pewter one I leave on the piano all year long. It is all one piece and fits in the palm of my hand. My brother Carl gave it to me years ago and it keeps the Christmas story in my heart throughout the seasons but it also makes me think of Carl when it catches my eye. I like that.
I even have a Playmobile nativity. It is the most work to set up with it's pop up cardboard background and the zillion pieces to be put together. I am hoping Axel who is now eleven will put it up for me tomorrow.
There are more. Smooth, softly painted ceramic ones, cheap dime store and catalogue versions that are tucked on every surface in every room upstairs and down for the kids to play with whether baby Jesus is missing or not.
Tonight I put up my metal one. It is copper and silver. It has a very different feel than any of the others. It is shiny. I remember the first time I saw it and knew I wanted it in my collection.
I love to look at each Mary, each Joseph and each swaddled baby and think about the story over and over. I have a Hummel Nativity and in that one Mary is riding on the donkey and Joseph is leading her. The colors are magnificent but my favorite part of that one is the donkey. How grateful a pregnant Mary must have been for a donkey to ride on as they traveled to Bethlehem.
I am 59 years old and still, every year for Christmas, my mother gives me a book, a piece of jewelry and a doll. I am so very grateful that for so many years my "dolls" were Nativity sets.
I am so grateful that my home is so full of these beautiful reminders of the true cause of celebration. I am so blessed to hold the Christmas story in my heart.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Unpacking Christmas
There is something quite wondrous about unpacking Christmas boxes. I am not a decorator - I have very few knickknacky kinds of things in general - but I love all things Christmas. I collect Nativity sets, from the tiniest pewter manger scene to a full mantle piece set of pure white Avon collectibles including the cow ( the cattle were lowing, remember ).
I have cranberry garland made of wood and raw wool garland in both white and gray. I have every Advent calendar that my four kids ever owned and a whole host of other decorations. I even have old fashioned waxed stencils and glass wax to adorn the windows of my hundred year old house with Santa's reindeer flying high in the sky above snowmen lined up on pinky white hills and the star of Bethlehem hanging way up in the top corners of the very old glass above a tiny baby sleeping in a manger.
So, when I say unpacking, I really mean unpacking. We relay the plastic boxes down to the yellow bedroom which we use for a staging area choosing to haul only the ornaments and nativities - 15 in all - all the way down to the living room. There is a box for table linens, a box for candles and candle holders, several boxes of wrapping paper, a box of gift bags and ribbons and bows. There are small containers and big containers and tins full of little pieces of delicate things wrapped in tissue and bubble wrap that all of us have popped over the years and now is really only wrap since there are no bubbles left to protect the cherished items and yet, by some miracle of Christmas, none are broken.
My grandson, almost 11 year old Axel, said tonight that unpacking Christmas boxes is like finding old friends you forgot you had. I would have to say that captures it pretty well as we unwrap ornaments decorated with Snoopy and Garfield, ornaments hand painted by children now grown and with their own homes, ornaments from Gila Bend and the Grand Canyon and from St. Petersburg, Russia and a favorite red hook from right here in Hometown, USA. We have skaters and ball players, puppies and birds in little nests, Big Bird and mice. They are made of felt and plastic, blown glass and ceramic. They are big and small, heavy enough to weigh down even the sturdiest of branches and so light I worry they will get lost in the tangle of lights and I will not retrieve them when it is time to wrap Christmas back up. They are pewter and clay, hand carved wood and mass produced resin. They are ours and they tell the stories of our lives from Christmas to Christmas.
I love unwrapping Christmas. As we lay out each pair of Mary and Joseph, each shiny star, each tattered felt stocking that was made by one or another of the kids in 4-H or Kindergarten, or Sunday School, it prepares me for waiting.
Unwrapping these packed away treasures unwraps my heart from the bustle that is outside these walls and must be reckoned with but does not need to be indulged. It reminds me of how much I love my children and grandchildren and how very much they love me. It reminds me to wait with the heart of a child who does not wait idly, but waits breathlessly for the joy that comes after the waiting is done.
I have cranberry garland made of wood and raw wool garland in both white and gray. I have every Advent calendar that my four kids ever owned and a whole host of other decorations. I even have old fashioned waxed stencils and glass wax to adorn the windows of my hundred year old house with Santa's reindeer flying high in the sky above snowmen lined up on pinky white hills and the star of Bethlehem hanging way up in the top corners of the very old glass above a tiny baby sleeping in a manger.
So, when I say unpacking, I really mean unpacking. We relay the plastic boxes down to the yellow bedroom which we use for a staging area choosing to haul only the ornaments and nativities - 15 in all - all the way down to the living room. There is a box for table linens, a box for candles and candle holders, several boxes of wrapping paper, a box of gift bags and ribbons and bows. There are small containers and big containers and tins full of little pieces of delicate things wrapped in tissue and bubble wrap that all of us have popped over the years and now is really only wrap since there are no bubbles left to protect the cherished items and yet, by some miracle of Christmas, none are broken.
My grandson, almost 11 year old Axel, said tonight that unpacking Christmas boxes is like finding old friends you forgot you had. I would have to say that captures it pretty well as we unwrap ornaments decorated with Snoopy and Garfield, ornaments hand painted by children now grown and with their own homes, ornaments from Gila Bend and the Grand Canyon and from St. Petersburg, Russia and a favorite red hook from right here in Hometown, USA. We have skaters and ball players, puppies and birds in little nests, Big Bird and mice. They are made of felt and plastic, blown glass and ceramic. They are big and small, heavy enough to weigh down even the sturdiest of branches and so light I worry they will get lost in the tangle of lights and I will not retrieve them when it is time to wrap Christmas back up. They are pewter and clay, hand carved wood and mass produced resin. They are ours and they tell the stories of our lives from Christmas to Christmas.
I love unwrapping Christmas. As we lay out each pair of Mary and Joseph, each shiny star, each tattered felt stocking that was made by one or another of the kids in 4-H or Kindergarten, or Sunday School, it prepares me for waiting.
Unwrapping these packed away treasures unwraps my heart from the bustle that is outside these walls and must be reckoned with but does not need to be indulged. It reminds me of how much I love my children and grandchildren and how very much they love me. It reminds me to wait with the heart of a child who does not wait idly, but waits breathlessly for the joy that comes after the waiting is done.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Happy Birthday to Me
Tomorrow I will turn 59.
I have liked every age I have been better than any age I was before it. I expect to like being 59.
Birthdays are very traditional at our house - even mine.
The birthday person - what a boring phrase that is - chooses the meal, the cake, the party venue. Tomorrow my daughters have agreed to come to town and walk through all the shops with me. It is amazing how easy it is to live in a smallish town and not have any idea what is behind the store windows.
There is a new shop called ZIZI's - I don't know what they sell.
There is a little place on main street that seems to be a hand me down clothing shop. We love those though this one looks to have an eclectic assortment of campy outfits for girly girls far younger than I. Still, it will be fun to look.
There is a building being refurbished that will host a new fancy restaurant. I am looking forward to that. The other night I saw a cat perched on the ledge outside of the second story window there. He/she was purring- content just watching the world go by. I wondered how many people noticed.
Of course we have our favorite places to go. We have a local bookstore - hooray for that!
I am not an "antiquer" but I have a favorite antique shop where I love to look at the old tablecloths. There is also a shop that recently changed hands that has truly fabulous granddarling gifts that I love to pick up and turn over in my hands. I will never be able to afford them, but the pleasure of looking and touching is worth it.
I was disappointed last night to drive into town and discover that they had decorated with polaroid blue lights instead of the traditional white ones, but alas, no one had asked me my opinion. It gives town a surreal look to me. Oh well, Santa will come all the same.
I always want it to snow on my birthday. It used to, but not so often any more. If it isn't going to snow, I would like it to be sunny and warm, I wish "birthday persons" could order whatever weather they wanted to be served with their dinner and dessert, but alas, no one will ask my opinion about that either. LOL
After our walk we will come home and cook together just like we did for Thanksgiving. I love being in the kitchen with my family. My mother and Aunt will come and we will go get my mother in law. How blessed I am at almost 59 to have a mother, an aunt and a mother in law all who can join me in celebrating my birthday.
I share a birthday with Louisa May Alcott and Madeline L'Engel; both writers. I find that inspiring.
I am looking forward to my birthday. I expect to really enjoy being 59. Happy Birthday to Me.
I have liked every age I have been better than any age I was before it. I expect to like being 59.
Birthdays are very traditional at our house - even mine.
The birthday person - what a boring phrase that is - chooses the meal, the cake, the party venue. Tomorrow my daughters have agreed to come to town and walk through all the shops with me. It is amazing how easy it is to live in a smallish town and not have any idea what is behind the store windows.
There is a new shop called ZIZI's - I don't know what they sell.
There is a little place on main street that seems to be a hand me down clothing shop. We love those though this one looks to have an eclectic assortment of campy outfits for girly girls far younger than I. Still, it will be fun to look.
There is a building being refurbished that will host a new fancy restaurant. I am looking forward to that. The other night I saw a cat perched on the ledge outside of the second story window there. He/she was purring- content just watching the world go by. I wondered how many people noticed.
Of course we have our favorite places to go. We have a local bookstore - hooray for that!
I am not an "antiquer" but I have a favorite antique shop where I love to look at the old tablecloths. There is also a shop that recently changed hands that has truly fabulous granddarling gifts that I love to pick up and turn over in my hands. I will never be able to afford them, but the pleasure of looking and touching is worth it.
I was disappointed last night to drive into town and discover that they had decorated with polaroid blue lights instead of the traditional white ones, but alas, no one had asked me my opinion. It gives town a surreal look to me. Oh well, Santa will come all the same.
I always want it to snow on my birthday. It used to, but not so often any more. If it isn't going to snow, I would like it to be sunny and warm, I wish "birthday persons" could order whatever weather they wanted to be served with their dinner and dessert, but alas, no one will ask my opinion about that either. LOL
After our walk we will come home and cook together just like we did for Thanksgiving. I love being in the kitchen with my family. My mother and Aunt will come and we will go get my mother in law. How blessed I am at almost 59 to have a mother, an aunt and a mother in law all who can join me in celebrating my birthday.
I share a birthday with Louisa May Alcott and Madeline L'Engel; both writers. I find that inspiring.
I am looking forward to my birthday. I expect to really enjoy being 59. Happy Birthday to Me.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Give Thanks in all circumstances
Happy Thanksgiving to all of you who have found your way here.
I live in New York so as I type, the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade in NYC is getting underway. I always watched the parade as a child. My first Thanksgiving memories are of watching while the grownups cooked. Our job was to stay out of the way. If we did it well we could get away with just about anything.
As I got older, the boys were in hunting camp and I was at home cooking with the women.
I learned so much about life cooking with my mother and aunts on Thanksgiving Day.
The richness of simple good food. The blessing of good company. The delight of laughter wafting up into the air with the aroma of turkey and stuffing. The love of family and the unexpected gifts that could be found by opening your door to someone in need, oft times someone I had never met before.We gathered up the needy, the lonely, the visitors to this country or our town who couldn't get "home" for dinner for one reason or another.
Now, at almost 59 years old, I have my own home with my own kitchen and interestingly, though I have cooked many Thanksgiving dinners in the last 40 years, today I will be working in the kitchen with the women again. My grown daughter, Jackie, will be the master chef this year assisted by her sister and I. Truth be told, Jackie is a better cook than I am, with a sensibility to good health (not nearly so much butter as my mother used), to local produce and to serving a hormone free, locally raised turkey.
Axel, my ten - almost eleven - year old grandson is here to watch the parade and yell out"come look at this" for the exciting parts.
My home - the family home of 30 years - will be full of deliciousness, laughter and love. I am so very thankful for that. Little Natalie - my 2 year old granddaughter- will add delight to the recipe of a Happy Thanksgiving.
Our thoughts will be with the friends and family members not gathered under this roof. My son, a Navy man serving in the Pacific northwest, and separated by 3000 miles from his wife and my other granddaughter Lorelai, will not be with us in body but surely will be in spirit. My brothers and their families and my mother in law and her family will be gathering together over the river and through the woods - some of them coming in for dinner from hunting as in years past.
We will give great thanks for them all and of course for the loved ones who are no longer with us here but will live forever in our hearts. I am thankful for all the many wonderful gifts they have given to me over the years.
It is no surprise that my favorite scripture is
Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances
from Thessalonians 5:17 .
This has been a rough year for many of us and certainly for many around the world, but this scripture reminds me that it is not only today, but every day that I should give thanks.
It is in living with a grateful heart all year long that I have much to celebrate when we gather together today around our table full of love.
I am so thankful that I was raised with the understanding of gratitude and rejoicing and praying in all circumstances .
I am thankful that my grown children live lives of gratitude. And, I am thankful for email, and Facebook and blogs that make it easy to say " I love you." to those who can not be with us today.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!!!!!!
Blessing to you all,
Beverly
I live in New York so as I type, the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade in NYC is getting underway. I always watched the parade as a child. My first Thanksgiving memories are of watching while the grownups cooked. Our job was to stay out of the way. If we did it well we could get away with just about anything.
As I got older, the boys were in hunting camp and I was at home cooking with the women.
I learned so much about life cooking with my mother and aunts on Thanksgiving Day.
The richness of simple good food. The blessing of good company. The delight of laughter wafting up into the air with the aroma of turkey and stuffing. The love of family and the unexpected gifts that could be found by opening your door to someone in need, oft times someone I had never met before.We gathered up the needy, the lonely, the visitors to this country or our town who couldn't get "home" for dinner for one reason or another.
Now, at almost 59 years old, I have my own home with my own kitchen and interestingly, though I have cooked many Thanksgiving dinners in the last 40 years, today I will be working in the kitchen with the women again. My grown daughter, Jackie, will be the master chef this year assisted by her sister and I. Truth be told, Jackie is a better cook than I am, with a sensibility to good health (not nearly so much butter as my mother used), to local produce and to serving a hormone free, locally raised turkey.
Axel, my ten - almost eleven - year old grandson is here to watch the parade and yell out"come look at this" for the exciting parts.
My home - the family home of 30 years - will be full of deliciousness, laughter and love. I am so very thankful for that. Little Natalie - my 2 year old granddaughter- will add delight to the recipe of a Happy Thanksgiving.
Our thoughts will be with the friends and family members not gathered under this roof. My son, a Navy man serving in the Pacific northwest, and separated by 3000 miles from his wife and my other granddaughter Lorelai, will not be with us in body but surely will be in spirit. My brothers and their families and my mother in law and her family will be gathering together over the river and through the woods - some of them coming in for dinner from hunting as in years past.
We will give great thanks for them all and of course for the loved ones who are no longer with us here but will live forever in our hearts. I am thankful for all the many wonderful gifts they have given to me over the years.
It is no surprise that my favorite scripture is
Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances
from Thessalonians 5:17 .
This has been a rough year for many of us and certainly for many around the world, but this scripture reminds me that it is not only today, but every day that I should give thanks.
It is in living with a grateful heart all year long that I have much to celebrate when we gather together today around our table full of love.
I am so thankful that I was raised with the understanding of gratitude and rejoicing and praying in all circumstances .
I am thankful that my grown children live lives of gratitude. And, I am thankful for email, and Facebook and blogs that make it easy to say " I love you." to those who can not be with us today.
Happy Thanksgiving everyone!!!!!!!
Blessing to you all,
Beverly
Monday, November 23, 2009
Opening Day Take Two
It was important to her. She had been waiting for months. Opening day was Friday and she was ready. The movie started at 640.
When Lizzie called for her help of course she said yes. She loved saying yes to friends in need, especially friends who so readily helped her when she was the one in need.
She looked at her watch to be sure it would work, but her mouth had already agreed. It would be tight but it would work out. It always works out.
She arrived at the stroke of 5 to pick Lizzie up, but it was not what she expected. The procedure had just started. Ughhh. Her heart started to race at the prospect of missing the show, but she had said yes. She wasn't about to make Lizzie feel badly, that was not her style. Too late to back out now. She had standards. It would be OK.
It took longer than planned before Lizzie was ready to leave. The trip to Livingston and then Elizaville felt like a cross country tour. The traffic was terrible. It brought out the worst in her. She didn't want Axel to see this side of her - -what kind of message is that for a mother to send a son? - but if only the cars in front of her would disappear! New Moon was opening tonight too, so when they finally got to the theatre the parking lot was full. Then the movie was sold out. Everything was going wrong. Everything. Tyson was saving her a seat, but the ticket girl didn't get that, there are rules after all. Her phone was hot from all the texting. ENOUGH. STOP! she finally told Tyson who she knew was only trying to help. Nothing would help. The movie had started 40 minutes ago. This was so not what she had wanted, but she had only her own kindhearted self to blame. She could have said no when she was asked to help. Why didn't she just say no?
She broke all the rules and got into her seat but it didn't make it better. It was not the way it was supposed to happen. Her mind was numb with disappointment and emotion. She had missed the experience she had so long anticipated. She had wanted to be present to this film. To watch intently. To appreciate all of it, the story, the acting, the feelings of this girl, this precious girl named Precious. Instead her own story was unfolding in her mind. She was preoccupied with her own thoughts and feelings, her own life.
How would she get from here to "all's well that ends well"? How to let go of such a disappointment that really is just a movie? How would she do that?
Choice, that's how. That really is the greatest weapon and tool that we have. We have a choice. We can carry every disappointment, every hurt, every anger with us, or we can take a long hard look at it, wallow in it even, and then let it go. It weighs so much more when we choose to put it in the back pack of our life and carry it with us. It weighs so little when we take a long hard look at it and carry only the lesson learned.
Some opening days are missed. That is just a fact of life. Some opening days are missed.
Sometimes, when you make someone else's life a little easier, you are the one who pays the price. Usually it is a very fair price to pay.
And sometimes the second viewing is Opening Day for something Precious.
When Lizzie called for her help of course she said yes. She loved saying yes to friends in need, especially friends who so readily helped her when she was the one in need.
She looked at her watch to be sure it would work, but her mouth had already agreed. It would be tight but it would work out. It always works out.
She arrived at the stroke of 5 to pick Lizzie up, but it was not what she expected. The procedure had just started. Ughhh. Her heart started to race at the prospect of missing the show, but she had said yes. She wasn't about to make Lizzie feel badly, that was not her style. Too late to back out now. She had standards. It would be OK.
It took longer than planned before Lizzie was ready to leave. The trip to Livingston and then Elizaville felt like a cross country tour. The traffic was terrible. It brought out the worst in her. She didn't want Axel to see this side of her - -what kind of message is that for a mother to send a son? - but if only the cars in front of her would disappear! New Moon was opening tonight too, so when they finally got to the theatre the parking lot was full. Then the movie was sold out. Everything was going wrong. Everything. Tyson was saving her a seat, but the ticket girl didn't get that, there are rules after all. Her phone was hot from all the texting. ENOUGH. STOP! she finally told Tyson who she knew was only trying to help. Nothing would help. The movie had started 40 minutes ago. This was so not what she had wanted, but she had only her own kindhearted self to blame. She could have said no when she was asked to help. Why didn't she just say no?
She broke all the rules and got into her seat but it didn't make it better. It was not the way it was supposed to happen. Her mind was numb with disappointment and emotion. She had missed the experience she had so long anticipated. She had wanted to be present to this film. To watch intently. To appreciate all of it, the story, the acting, the feelings of this girl, this precious girl named Precious. Instead her own story was unfolding in her mind. She was preoccupied with her own thoughts and feelings, her own life.
How would she get from here to "all's well that ends well"? How to let go of such a disappointment that really is just a movie? How would she do that?
Choice, that's how. That really is the greatest weapon and tool that we have. We have a choice. We can carry every disappointment, every hurt, every anger with us, or we can take a long hard look at it, wallow in it even, and then let it go. It weighs so much more when we choose to put it in the back pack of our life and carry it with us. It weighs so little when we take a long hard look at it and carry only the lesson learned.
Some opening days are missed. That is just a fact of life. Some opening days are missed.
Sometimes, when you make someone else's life a little easier, you are the one who pays the price. Usually it is a very fair price to pay.
And sometimes the second viewing is Opening Day for something Precious.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Opening Day
I am a hunter. I was not always. In my family I was the only girl with three brothers and the "boys" went off each fall and the "girls" - my mother and I - stayed home. I did not feel left out because in the absence of my father and brothers, we had a field day of our own. With no
5 o'clock dinner to prepare, we ate when and what we wanted. Grilled cheese sandwiches, tomato soup and a good book was the treat I got while they were away. On the weekends we took Fall Foliage rides over winding back roads and stopped for penny candy and ice cream. It was wonderful.
I grew up and married a non hunter. Every opening day I would call home and see who had bagged a buck and from time to time I would go get Mom and we would take a ride for old times sake. At the Thanksgiving table Daddy would give us a venison roast and some steaks for winter meals and share a camp story or two before he went back in to hunt some more.
But all seasons change and the season for me to stay home every November came to an end when my father died in 1999.
Without Henry, the prospect of hunting was grim. A dear friend knew that and saw a remedy. He took me elk hunting in the high Cascade mountains of Oregon and I learned the ropes of hunting camp and how to handle and shoot a gun. When we came back, my brother gave me a sweet, sweet rifle, and stood by while I sited it in. Passing muster, I was allowed into the truck, and off we went into the woods.
I could never take my father's place, but I could join the boys as they carried on the family tradition and then I could pass that tradition on to my own children. I was honored to do so.
Opening day dawned cold and bright that year. Three deer were hanging in the shed at dusk, none of them mine. But the next day I shot and killed an eight point buck. Boom/Flop it is called and the celebration, as I was taught what comes after the gun is fired, was a tribute to my father.
Yesterday was the first opening day since then that I did not spend in the woods with my brothers and now grown man children. At 58, with a knee that will not allow me to climb a tree stand or sit in the cold, wee hours of the morning, I woke on opening day at dawn and said a prayer for my brothers and sons and for all hunters and then donned my scrubs and headed out to my job as a nurse at our local hospital.
I am a hunter. In some ways I will always be a hunter whether I am out on opening day or not, much like I will always be a nurse, whether I am making my living as a nurse or not. As I sit at my computer thinking about hunting and tradition and recipes for the venison that will be shared with me, I realize that this November I find myself in an entirely different season. These last few weeks I have spent, not buying bacon and eggs, not cleaning my gun or target shooting, not gathering sleeping bags and camouflage gear but preparing for a season of life unlike any before this.
Yesterday was opening day for deer season. I missed it in body but not in spirit.
Today is another opening day. This November while my brothers cleared shooting lanes, I painted my late husband's office. This tiny room in my big old house has been a nursery and an office. My babies slept here and Dennis built his first computer here. Now it is mine. It is a soft yellow with a sea colored ceiling. The book case is painted a wonderful shade of orange. After a typo in a memo to my writing coach, this room was christened "The Quest House".
On the surface it looks nothing like hunting camp, but there are many similarities.
I am learning how to share my thoughts and experiences with others which takes practice just like shooting a buck takes practice. I am learning what to do with my words after I have them on paper just like I had to learn what to do with a deer once I had shot it. And I am opening my heart to the joys of sharing my writing just as I opened my heart to the joys of sharing the bunk house in hunting camp and a meal of venison that I had shot myself.
And so, as I sit at my computer in my newly painted writing/thinking/creating room I recognize this November day as Opening Day of The Quest House. Opening days are full of promise. Exciting. Invigorating. There is so much to look forward to when a new season opens, so much hope even in the midst of fear.
Thursday is Thanksgiving and as always, there will be much to be thankful for. This year I will add opening days to the list.
5 o'clock dinner to prepare, we ate when and what we wanted. Grilled cheese sandwiches, tomato soup and a good book was the treat I got while they were away. On the weekends we took Fall Foliage rides over winding back roads and stopped for penny candy and ice cream. It was wonderful.
I grew up and married a non hunter. Every opening day I would call home and see who had bagged a buck and from time to time I would go get Mom and we would take a ride for old times sake. At the Thanksgiving table Daddy would give us a venison roast and some steaks for winter meals and share a camp story or two before he went back in to hunt some more.
But all seasons change and the season for me to stay home every November came to an end when my father died in 1999.
Without Henry, the prospect of hunting was grim. A dear friend knew that and saw a remedy. He took me elk hunting in the high Cascade mountains of Oregon and I learned the ropes of hunting camp and how to handle and shoot a gun. When we came back, my brother gave me a sweet, sweet rifle, and stood by while I sited it in. Passing muster, I was allowed into the truck, and off we went into the woods.
I could never take my father's place, but I could join the boys as they carried on the family tradition and then I could pass that tradition on to my own children. I was honored to do so.
Opening day dawned cold and bright that year. Three deer were hanging in the shed at dusk, none of them mine. But the next day I shot and killed an eight point buck. Boom/Flop it is called and the celebration, as I was taught what comes after the gun is fired, was a tribute to my father.
Yesterday was the first opening day since then that I did not spend in the woods with my brothers and now grown man children. At 58, with a knee that will not allow me to climb a tree stand or sit in the cold, wee hours of the morning, I woke on opening day at dawn and said a prayer for my brothers and sons and for all hunters and then donned my scrubs and headed out to my job as a nurse at our local hospital.
I am a hunter. In some ways I will always be a hunter whether I am out on opening day or not, much like I will always be a nurse, whether I am making my living as a nurse or not. As I sit at my computer thinking about hunting and tradition and recipes for the venison that will be shared with me, I realize that this November I find myself in an entirely different season. These last few weeks I have spent, not buying bacon and eggs, not cleaning my gun or target shooting, not gathering sleeping bags and camouflage gear but preparing for a season of life unlike any before this.
Yesterday was opening day for deer season. I missed it in body but not in spirit.
Today is another opening day. This November while my brothers cleared shooting lanes, I painted my late husband's office. This tiny room in my big old house has been a nursery and an office. My babies slept here and Dennis built his first computer here. Now it is mine. It is a soft yellow with a sea colored ceiling. The book case is painted a wonderful shade of orange. After a typo in a memo to my writing coach, this room was christened "The Quest House".
On the surface it looks nothing like hunting camp, but there are many similarities.
I am learning how to share my thoughts and experiences with others which takes practice just like shooting a buck takes practice. I am learning what to do with my words after I have them on paper just like I had to learn what to do with a deer once I had shot it. And I am opening my heart to the joys of sharing my writing just as I opened my heart to the joys of sharing the bunk house in hunting camp and a meal of venison that I had shot myself.
And so, as I sit at my computer in my newly painted writing/thinking/creating room I recognize this November day as Opening Day of The Quest House. Opening days are full of promise. Exciting. Invigorating. There is so much to look forward to when a new season opens, so much hope even in the midst of fear.
Thursday is Thanksgiving and as always, there will be much to be thankful for. This year I will add opening days to the list.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
an unexpected visitor
I was minding my own business, doing what I always do, behaving normally - for me at least - when she whispered in my ear. I knew her immediately though I do not think we have ever been formally introduced. I had seen her mark often on my friend Kathleen's porch, in the clothing combinations of my darling granddaughter lorelai that can only be described as whimsical, at Jen's in her every artistic endeavor, and of course in the by now familiar art work of my writing coach mary anne, but she had never come looking for me before.
I thought she had the wrong address and was about to tell her so, when she spoke.
"Hello bevy, " she said, using the nickname that only those dear to me know. "I thought it was time for us to become friends,"
I had all I could do to keep myself from snorting my reply out my nose, but remembered my manners just in time.
"Why Whimsy, how gracious an offer from you," I replied coolly," but truly, let's be honest, we have NOTHING in common, we can't be friends."
"Ah, yes," she replied, "but aren't you starting a new chapter of your life? of your writing life especially, wouldn't it be fun if you let me tag along? Admit it, you like what you see when you recognize me in my other friends lives, you have even been a little bit envious of my work with them, you might like me if you gave me a chance. For instance, " she continued before I could interrupt her with my negativism, " look at this office. You won't get any real work done in this office, now, will you? "
As I looked around at my 8x8 room, the 30 year old green and white striped wallpaper, the 10 year old threadbare curtains, the books of my late husband housed in apple crate book shelves covered with the dust that settles from no use, I surprised myself by nodding up and down instead of back and forth.
"Ah, that's it, bevy. Follow your gut, not your overly practical mind, you can do this. For starters, think orange. You like orange. Let me do the rest. I'll be around when you need me, honest." and then she was gone.
I sat quietly for a moment in the green and white striped office that I had inherited with my widowhood eleven years ago, before I realized that Whimsy had inoculated me with her infectious spirit without my actual consent. I started to object, though I was alone in the room, and then a smile came over me. Maybe, just maybe, she was right. Maybe I do need a new friend for this journey, who knows?
I thought she had the wrong address and was about to tell her so, when she spoke.
"Hello bevy, " she said, using the nickname that only those dear to me know. "I thought it was time for us to become friends,"
I had all I could do to keep myself from snorting my reply out my nose, but remembered my manners just in time.
"Why Whimsy, how gracious an offer from you," I replied coolly," but truly, let's be honest, we have NOTHING in common, we can't be friends."
"Ah, yes," she replied, "but aren't you starting a new chapter of your life? of your writing life especially, wouldn't it be fun if you let me tag along? Admit it, you like what you see when you recognize me in my other friends lives, you have even been a little bit envious of my work with them, you might like me if you gave me a chance. For instance, " she continued before I could interrupt her with my negativism, " look at this office. You won't get any real work done in this office, now, will you? "
As I looked around at my 8x8 room, the 30 year old green and white striped wallpaper, the 10 year old threadbare curtains, the books of my late husband housed in apple crate book shelves covered with the dust that settles from no use, I surprised myself by nodding up and down instead of back and forth.
"Ah, that's it, bevy. Follow your gut, not your overly practical mind, you can do this. For starters, think orange. You like orange. Let me do the rest. I'll be around when you need me, honest." and then she was gone.
I sat quietly for a moment in the green and white striped office that I had inherited with my widowhood eleven years ago, before I realized that Whimsy had inoculated me with her infectious spirit without my actual consent. I started to object, though I was alone in the room, and then a smile came over me. Maybe, just maybe, she was right. Maybe I do need a new friend for this journey, who knows?
Friday, October 23, 2009
and so it begins
I don't think of my self as a follower. I usually decide on my own what endeavors to pursue, but when my writing coach said "start a blog", I figured she had a reason.
I don't know yet what that reason is, but I suspect, her being a writer and all, that it has to do with just that, writing.
so, stay tuned, writing to follow.
beverly
aka grandma bevy
aka............
I don't know yet what that reason is, but I suspect, her being a writer and all, that it has to do with just that, writing.
so, stay tuned, writing to follow.
beverly
aka grandma bevy
aka............
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