It's that time of year. We are getting ready to say goodbye to a year past, and getting ready to start anew. Whereas springtime seems to bring the physical cleaning house, the New Year offers opportunity for reflection- an emotional and spiritual "cleaning." People start to think about changes they want to make in their lives, relationships they want to repair or let go. Of course there is the cliche New Year's resolution still alive and superficially making its way into guilty minds.
While some are conjuring up ways to lose weight, or cleaning out their Facebook friends list, I've begun a small cleaning project of my own. For months, maybe even over a year, I've been wanting to clean out my email subscriptions. I know this sounds minuscule and inconsequential, but it's something I've been meaning to do for some time, and I finally got started this morning. There's more than just the obvious reason of being sick of the ridiculous number of emails on a daily basis. It's the bombardment of commercialism and distraction. Do I need to know every item on sale in every store? Do I need more e-zines and newsletters than I can read in a week's time? I get emails from stores I haven't shopped in for over a year, and updates from websites I once ordered one item from, once, a long long time ago.
So you see, by cleaning house, I'm not just reducing the number of emails in my email box, I'm reducing the clutter of senseless distraction I encounter each day. It's just one more step in my long-standing goal to continue to simplify. If I really need something, it's not going to matter to me if it is on sale or not. I'm going to buy it. If I happen to catch a sale, great! I don't need to know every sale at every store and website. All it does is entice you to spend money when you don't need to, or that you need something you really don't. To tell you the truth, all you need is a calendar and a list of holidays and you'll know every time there is a sale.
Also being cut, Linkedin. Sorry folks, don't be insulted when I don't accept your request to connect. I rarely even use Linkedin. If I happen to go on and I see I've received a request, I'll accept it if I know you. But months could go by before I even see it. Doesn't mean I don't like you or I'm ignoring you. I'm also eliminating the Garrison Institute and the National Parks emails. Both of these really interest me, but rarely is there something I can capitalize on, as both require extensive travel. If I'm planning a relevant trip, I can certainly visit their websites. I've eliminated a bunch of others related to swim, as my son has officially completed his senior swim season and I likely won't have any use for those anymore.
There are others, I know they'll show up in the next few days, and I'll continue to eliminate. Maybe in 2017, instead of opening my email and deleting half of what's there, I'll actually be interested in reading what pops in!
Wednesday, December 28, 2016
Tuesday, December 27, 2016
Celebrity Love
I find it fascinating the way people develop such personal attachments to celebrities... of all kinds. We become so engrossed in their stories, in their characters, in their achievements. Of course, if they produce something we love like music or unbeatable characters, we feel a loss of their art. If they were athletes, we lose the adrenalin and excitement of watching them compete.
There are memes going all around the internet, and videos and social media posts about how much 2016 sucks. There's so much craziness that has happened this year. See the John Oliver video below- it's hilarious. But it seems we've lost so many of our favorite celebrities this year, and just a week before the end of the year, we've lost our favorite princess.
The emotion over the loss of Mohammad Ali, and Prince, and David Bowie, and Carrie Fischer, George Michael and Glen Frey, and so many others (I wrote a post about Harry Morgan from MASH) are all totally understandable. What fascinates me is the RIP posts on Facebook, the memorials, and the stickers on the back of cars. Please don't misunderstand my comments as judgmental or critical. I just find it extraordinary that people feel strongly enough about people they don't even know, to change their profile pics, create living memorials on their vehicles, and post personal messages. I've never felt the urge to do anything like that. What I have felt like, is writing about the loss, or listening to music by a singer or musician we've lost, to celebrate their art and be reminded of what they've left us.
I guess everyone has their way of processing loss. We find such connection in the characters our favorite actors have created and the music made by our favorite performing artists. We take pride in the fight of our favorite athletes' rise to the top. This year did suck in a lot of ways. We've lost a lot of greats. The tear-jerking videos during all the awards shows are going to be tough to watch this year. So long 2016. Let's hope 2017 is healthy and prosperous for all of us.
There are memes going all around the internet, and videos and social media posts about how much 2016 sucks. There's so much craziness that has happened this year. See the John Oliver video below- it's hilarious. But it seems we've lost so many of our favorite celebrities this year, and just a week before the end of the year, we've lost our favorite princess.
The emotion over the loss of Mohammad Ali, and Prince, and David Bowie, and Carrie Fischer, George Michael and Glen Frey, and so many others (I wrote a post about Harry Morgan from MASH) are all totally understandable. What fascinates me is the RIP posts on Facebook, the memorials, and the stickers on the back of cars. Please don't misunderstand my comments as judgmental or critical. I just find it extraordinary that people feel strongly enough about people they don't even know, to change their profile pics, create living memorials on their vehicles, and post personal messages. I've never felt the urge to do anything like that. What I have felt like, is writing about the loss, or listening to music by a singer or musician we've lost, to celebrate their art and be reminded of what they've left us.
I guess everyone has their way of processing loss. We find such connection in the characters our favorite actors have created and the music made by our favorite performing artists. We take pride in the fight of our favorite athletes' rise to the top. This year did suck in a lot of ways. We've lost a lot of greats. The tear-jerking videos during all the awards shows are going to be tough to watch this year. So long 2016. Let's hope 2017 is healthy and prosperous for all of us.
Creekside Observations
crackle and spark of a freshly ignited campfire
dribble and trickle of creek water
in small rippling, graduating circles
a large tree, split into two separate trunks
reaching out in opposite directions
one arching over the creek like a serpent's head
I wish I took a photo
the kerplunk of a fish, or maybe a turtle
an A-shaped gateway for kayakers
formed by two tall and skinny trees
leaning into each other at a point
the perfect triangular vertex
the golfball-like domes barely peeking
above the surface of the creek, watching
canoers, kayakers, and perhaps most courageous
exposed, stand-up paddle boarders
children laughing, running, bicycle riding
families, large and small
some celebrating with festive music
others talking quietly around the fire
a father and his two sons try their luck
with poles and bait and lure
while another man tosses a primitive line
with a hook and piece of bread
the former, hard on his luck
the latter dragging in his dinner
the day comes to an end slowly out here
every minute of lasting light, a chance
to take one more walk
to catch one more fish
to paddle one more time
and the night falls, and the fires burn
the aroma of dinners of all kinds
are carried down creek with smoke
out here, dinner is served
under the moon and the stars and the trees
calmness spreads with the departure of the mosquitos
the coolness in the air brings everyone close to the fire
chatter and marshmallow, cocoa and cake
long stretches of silence accompany the children
who have retired to their tents
while the grown-ups stare into the flames instead of screens
until the chatter is replaced with yawns
deep inhalation of fresh air and heavy eyelids
send everyone off to bed
in a tent, on the dirt, under the stars
The Hard Truth
It's hard to be a kid sometimes, even an 18-year-old one.
Over the weekend my son made a mistake. A pretty big one. Not life threatening or hurtful, just a pretty big mistake. Let's leave it at that. I took him out for a little while yesterday, and he was dropping hints for me to ask about it. You know what that's like, don't you? When you want to tell someone something, but you don't know how or what to say, so you bait them into asking you. I think it's a protective strategy our brain uses,without conscious awareness. I wasn't picking up on it until we got in the car to come home, and he told me he didn't "feel right." I was starting to feel the vibe. I knew he was a little off. So I asked him if he was feeling well physically, if he was ok. He said he was. So I asked him if there was something on his mind, something emotional bothering him. That's when he finally let it out. Welled-up eyes, and increased heart beat visible through his shirt, he told me. I asked if he felt better having let it out. He said no, but I knew why. He still had to tell his dad. Ugh, telling your dad the truth about something you're not so proud of is often worse than the consequences that naturally come along with the mistake in and of itself. Take it from me. I know.
Never mind what he did, it's not important. What followed was an additional 24 hours' anticipation of his dad's reaction, because we had company and there was no time alone. I was feeling sick to my stomach in anticipation too. I don't know if it was just mom sympathy, or if it was actual empathy because the fear of having to tell my dad something I knew would disappoint him, was all too familiar. But this morning, I insisted my son go talk to his dad before leaving for work. My husband and I would be home together and I couldn't harbor the secret, nor did I feel good about it weighing on my son's mind all day at work. And he told him. And my husband got angry. He went on a rant, and my son took it bravely and with humility. Then, as I tried to pull my heart back down from up in my throat, my husband surprised me. "Jacob, wait. Come here," he said. And he pulled him in and hugged him. "I know you didn't mean for any of this to happen. It's ok." The consequences will be what they will be, but my son will always know his mom and dad love him and we've always got his back.
Over the weekend my son made a mistake. A pretty big one. Not life threatening or hurtful, just a pretty big mistake. Let's leave it at that. I took him out for a little while yesterday, and he was dropping hints for me to ask about it. You know what that's like, don't you? When you want to tell someone something, but you don't know how or what to say, so you bait them into asking you. I think it's a protective strategy our brain uses,without conscious awareness. I wasn't picking up on it until we got in the car to come home, and he told me he didn't "feel right." I was starting to feel the vibe. I knew he was a little off. So I asked him if he was feeling well physically, if he was ok. He said he was. So I asked him if there was something on his mind, something emotional bothering him. That's when he finally let it out. Welled-up eyes, and increased heart beat visible through his shirt, he told me. I asked if he felt better having let it out. He said no, but I knew why. He still had to tell his dad. Ugh, telling your dad the truth about something you're not so proud of is often worse than the consequences that naturally come along with the mistake in and of itself. Take it from me. I know.
Never mind what he did, it's not important. What followed was an additional 24 hours' anticipation of his dad's reaction, because we had company and there was no time alone. I was feeling sick to my stomach in anticipation too. I don't know if it was just mom sympathy, or if it was actual empathy because the fear of having to tell my dad something I knew would disappoint him, was all too familiar. But this morning, I insisted my son go talk to his dad before leaving for work. My husband and I would be home together and I couldn't harbor the secret, nor did I feel good about it weighing on my son's mind all day at work. And he told him. And my husband got angry. He went on a rant, and my son took it bravely and with humility. Then, as I tried to pull my heart back down from up in my throat, my husband surprised me. "Jacob, wait. Come here," he said. And he pulled him in and hugged him. "I know you didn't mean for any of this to happen. It's ok." The consequences will be what they will be, but my son will always know his mom and dad love him and we've always got his back.
Monday, December 26, 2016
Come Camping
Come camping
where the blue herons tiptoe along the banks of the creek
exposed by the retreated water in the dry winter season
and the ganglion roots of the old cypress who stand above
drip down from the majestic trunks into the water
like dangling spaghetti strings
where the puffy white clouds in the powder blue sky
reflect down onto the water, a mirror image of the heavens
where the birds soar high above the shady canopy
and the nature lovers bask below in communion
to enjoy the gentle breezes around a toasty campfire
where campers delight in hot dogs, better than any at home
or in a ballpark, cooked outside over an open fire ring
where the glory of the sunrise and sunset
are gazed at through treetops instead of windows
where the living room floor is made of dirt
and the dining room always has a view
where the blue herons tiptoe along the banks of the creek
exposed by the retreated water in the dry winter season
and the ganglion roots of the old cypress who stand above
drip down from the majestic trunks into the water
like dangling spaghetti strings
where the puffy white clouds in the powder blue sky
reflect down onto the water, a mirror image of the heavens
where the birds soar high above the shady canopy
and the nature lovers bask below in communion
to enjoy the gentle breezes around a toasty campfire
where campers delight in hot dogs, better than any at home
or in a ballpark, cooked outside over an open fire ring
where the glory of the sunrise and sunset
are gazed at through treetops instead of windows
where the living room floor is made of dirt
and the dining room always has a view
Wrapper, Not Rapper
I'm not sure why, but I really enjoy wrapping presents. My husband theorizes it's because I didn't grow up in a big family. He, on the other hand, grew up in a house of five kids. It was a lot of wrapping at Christmastime, especially as the second oldest. Anyhow, he was happy to let me take on all the wrapping duties since we moved in together, back in the 90's.
A little bit like when you get compliments on cooking a delicious meal, I enjoyed the oohs and ahs about how beautifully wrapped our gifts were. I learned to tie a beautiful bow on traditional squared box when I worked one holiday season at Godiva Chocolates. And for years I enjoyed picking up wrapping paper and gift trimmings at the after Christmas sales. It didn't even matter whether or not I needed any. A few years ago I quit doing that, and I'm finally working down my supply. Now that I have four nieces and three nephews all under the age of 15, there's lots to wrap!
For a while, things were slowing down with the growing popularity of gift cards and the use of gift bags, and the lack of young children around. This year all the rolls came out for the little ones. (I even finished two of them.) My husband insists the young kids get gift wrap, not bags. "The whole fun of it when your a kid," he says, "is tearing open the packages." So a wrapping I have been.
When I got to the last gift, which just happened to be for my (almost) three-year-old niece, Natalie, I was particularly proud of my wrapping job. I don't think I have ever had a box wrap with such perfection- the angles, the creases. It was so satisfying. It was just like the ones you see in photos and on TV. Lucky Natalie!
And lucky me, for being so blessed this holiday season with a loving and growing family. Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah to all who celebrate this joyous season!
A little bit like when you get compliments on cooking a delicious meal, I enjoyed the oohs and ahs about how beautifully wrapped our gifts were. I learned to tie a beautiful bow on traditional squared box when I worked one holiday season at Godiva Chocolates. And for years I enjoyed picking up wrapping paper and gift trimmings at the after Christmas sales. It didn't even matter whether or not I needed any. A few years ago I quit doing that, and I'm finally working down my supply. Now that I have four nieces and three nephews all under the age of 15, there's lots to wrap!
For a while, things were slowing down with the growing popularity of gift cards and the use of gift bags, and the lack of young children around. This year all the rolls came out for the little ones. (I even finished two of them.) My husband insists the young kids get gift wrap, not bags. "The whole fun of it when your a kid," he says, "is tearing open the packages." So a wrapping I have been.
When I got to the last gift, which just happened to be for my (almost) three-year-old niece, Natalie, I was particularly proud of my wrapping job. I don't think I have ever had a box wrap with such perfection- the angles, the creases. It was so satisfying. It was just like the ones you see in photos and on TV. Lucky Natalie!
And lucky me, for being so blessed this holiday season with a loving and growing family. Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah to all who celebrate this joyous season!
Christmas
They came, they camped. They got new bicycles from their grandparents, and they went fishing with their dad. The two young boys even caught a couple, a tilapia and a catfish. Like so many kids, they enjoyed the day before Christmas with one part of their family and planned to be with another part on Christmas Day. The adults always have the whole thing figured out in a way they think is fair, or right, or what they want, or what's most convenient. There was laughter and running, playing and tree-climbing. And dirt. Lots of dirt!
Eventually, everyone washed up and put on clean clothes, and they all went out for dinner. Camping doesn't always mean roughing it all day, each day. Snuggled close in the booth, the youngest rested his head on his aunt's shoulder. He was tired, but he also seemed despondent. His aunt asked him if he was okay, if something was wrong. "I just miss my mom," he responded with innocence. It didn't matter what his aunt thought if his mom, what anyone in his dad's family thought of her. He was a little boy who wanted his mommy. It didn't matter to him she was a mess. He probably didn't even understand. He leaned in close to his aunt, and she held him in tight, kissing him on the head. She understood his sadness, maybe more than anyone else at the table. He shook it off and ate his dinner, wiping every last bit of ketchup off the plate with his final french fry. On the way back to camp, he fell asleep in the car and was sent right to his tent without argument when they got there.
The next morning, after opening presents, the boys and their dad went home so they could get ready to spend Christmas with the mom they were missing. Their time together was now reduced to an eight hour visit on Sundays. Lucky for her, Christmas was on a Sunday this year. They were reluctant to leave camp, but took their gifts and hugged everyone goodbye, perhaps excited to see their mom the following day. Grandma and Grandpa, and the aunt and uncle said goodbye with sadness. They wondered how the boys would be spending Christmas while the rest of the family was sitting around a cozy dinner table at their dad's sister's house. But everyone said goodbye again, and they were off.
Early the next morning, there were only two tents left. The aunt woke to the sound of a cell phone ringing in the next tent. She could hear her mother-in-law hollering, "Turn it off! Turn it off!" It was too late. The aunt and uncle had risen to the sound of the phone and the birds chirping and squawking high in the trees. The phone was silenced, and so were the campers. Then the aunt was startled by the sound of her husband's voice.
"Oh my..." She responded to him before he could finish.
"What? What?" And he turned his cell phone in her direction. He was sharing a text from his brother. The boys' mother had been arrested in the middle of the night and was in jail with no bond. That's why her father-in-law's phone was ringing so early in the morning. And while they all celebrated, because the boys would be able to stay with them for Christmas, and not be forced to spend the day with their emotionally unstable mom, the aunt felt sick. They all knew this would be coming eventually. She agreed the boys were better off with their dad. But she also knew they weren't being forced to spend time with their mom at all.
Eventually, everyone washed up and put on clean clothes, and they all went out for dinner. Camping doesn't always mean roughing it all day, each day. Snuggled close in the booth, the youngest rested his head on his aunt's shoulder. He was tired, but he also seemed despondent. His aunt asked him if he was okay, if something was wrong. "I just miss my mom," he responded with innocence. It didn't matter what his aunt thought if his mom, what anyone in his dad's family thought of her. He was a little boy who wanted his mommy. It didn't matter to him she was a mess. He probably didn't even understand. He leaned in close to his aunt, and she held him in tight, kissing him on the head. She understood his sadness, maybe more than anyone else at the table. He shook it off and ate his dinner, wiping every last bit of ketchup off the plate with his final french fry. On the way back to camp, he fell asleep in the car and was sent right to his tent without argument when they got there.
The next morning, after opening presents, the boys and their dad went home so they could get ready to spend Christmas with the mom they were missing. Their time together was now reduced to an eight hour visit on Sundays. Lucky for her, Christmas was on a Sunday this year. They were reluctant to leave camp, but took their gifts and hugged everyone goodbye, perhaps excited to see their mom the following day. Grandma and Grandpa, and the aunt and uncle said goodbye with sadness. They wondered how the boys would be spending Christmas while the rest of the family was sitting around a cozy dinner table at their dad's sister's house. But everyone said goodbye again, and they were off.
Early the next morning, there were only two tents left. The aunt woke to the sound of a cell phone ringing in the next tent. She could hear her mother-in-law hollering, "Turn it off! Turn it off!" It was too late. The aunt and uncle had risen to the sound of the phone and the birds chirping and squawking high in the trees. The phone was silenced, and so were the campers. Then the aunt was startled by the sound of her husband's voice.
"Oh my..." She responded to him before he could finish.
"What? What?" And he turned his cell phone in her direction. He was sharing a text from his brother. The boys' mother had been arrested in the middle of the night and was in jail with no bond. That's why her father-in-law's phone was ringing so early in the morning. And while they all celebrated, because the boys would be able to stay with them for Christmas, and not be forced to spend the day with their emotionally unstable mom, the aunt felt sick. They all knew this would be coming eventually. She agreed the boys were better off with their dad. But she also knew they weren't being forced to spend time with their mom at all.
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