Amigos

“We all let people into our lives, but you will find that REALLY good friends let you into your own.”
I saw this as a post on Facebook.
It sat with me for a day or two and now… I simply must share my attitude of gratitude.
I’ve been blessed again and again with beautiful friendships. Some last years and years, and there are others where I’ve been forever changed by a very brief exchange. Either way, it is fascinating to me how the exchange of ideas, dreams, smiles, recipes, heartbreaks, and even the daily minutia changes a person. When we happen upon those right individuals…it seems this imprinting occurs on our soul…whether they stay or go…a bit of them remains.
It might be a world view that has changed, an additional ingredient in a favorite recipe, the process for doing laundry…it can be anything…but a bit of them now resides in our every day.
This.is.beauty.

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The Bless You Philosophy

Without fail, EVERY time, when I should sneeze, when ANYONE should sneeze, ALL of my children say bless you…sometimes multiple times.  This courtesy is a steadfast rule to them.  ALWAYS.  I did not teach this rule.  I don’t believe we’ve ever talked about it.  I just always say bless you…compulsively…even to strangers…sometimes quietly if I think they’ll reject the thought…but I still say it.  

The other night-

MC: hey mom, I know bb is really asleep now because I sneezed twice, TWICE and he did not say bless you – not at all you know…he’s sleeping.

Me:ok – shhhh

MC:MOM…i sneezed…….(I was in the other room)

Me: oh oh sorry…bless you MC

MC:TWICE mom

Me: bless you again MC

MC:ok – thanks

So, the things I want them to REALLY GET, to really absorb and emulate, I shouldn’t talk about at all…just show compulsively.  That’s quite a burden to think about…leading by example and all that.  I might need to rest up for this one.

Stay tuned.

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Thoughts for the day…

1. New Moon= holy mmmmm

2. Did you know you could zumba on a treadmill (in the privacy of your own home of course)?

3. Messing with my kitchen is a bad idea, Mr. Z.

4. I wonder if I will ever tire of just observing my children when they don’t realize I’m watching…

5. Good, good day.

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Oh Neil! Such a way with words!

Who doesn’t love this?

Wish you a very merry, cherry cherry Christmas
and a holly holy holiday, too.
Underneath your tree may there always be
sounds of harmony, not a song sung blue.

Just a very merry, cherry cherry Christmas.
And if all of those who love you gather near,
you’ll have a very merry, cherry cherry, holly holy,
rock and rolly Christmas this year.

When the snow drops on the treetops
it’s a pretty amazing scene.
Hear the choir, light the fire.
Feels like pretty amazing grace if you know what I mean.

Oh yeah, it’s Christmas time.

In a world of make-believe I’m a believer,
and I believe in things not always understood,
but the things you feel make believing real.
That’s why Christmas feels so good, so good, so good.

When you imagine all the world as one great chorus,
you’re gonna learn that every voice has got a song.
Let’s raise a Christmas toast of red, red wine,
we’ll even sing Sweet Caroline while the whole world sings along.

I hear music in the sound of children laughing.
It’s a beautiful noise that fits you like a song.
Makes you wanna have a very merry, holly holy,
cherry cherry Christmas time the whole year long.

The whole year long…sing your Christmas song…the whole year long.
Cherry Christmas, Everyone!!!

You sing it Neil Diamond!!!

In a world of make believe I’m a believer, and I believe in things not always understood – exactly!  I like the way he said that:)

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In search of a church?

I was raised in the Catholic church.  I completed every age appropriate requirement as dictated by THE CHURCH.  I didn’t ask questions.  I didn’t wonder.  I just put on the suit of beliefs I was handed like a good girl.  I didn’t feel like a good girl.  I broke some of the rules.  Then, when life happened and natural consequences would surface, I was certain that God was exacting his toll for my broken rules.  This was a conversation that would play again and again only in my head. 

When I moved to Houston during student teaching and my first two years as a teacher, going to the Catholic church was a source of information (I went to the Spanish mass to absorb), community (some of my students were there as well), and comfort (within these walls was the only place in Houston that felt like home; resembled home).  This was all really helpful for a wandering soul so far from her family.

When I moved to Kansas City, I was ready to wonder about all of my questions.  Is it okay to be a “cafeteria Catholic”?  to pick and choose what you agree with?  That didn’t feel quite right.  So I went searching…I went to a very beautiful Christian church in a very expensive part of town.  I was curious…who can know if it was more class curious or spiritual curious – probably both.  It was an evening service in the little side chapel.  There were drums.  This felt odd.  They got in a circle and held hands for communion…that felt strange too.  Before I left, an older gentleman leaned over and whispered in my ear if I had been raised Catholic.  I felt a surge of panic…I’d been found out!  I didn’t belong here!  I said yes and asked how he knew that.  Turns out I made the sign of the cross after communion.  Go figure – everyone doesn’t do that.  I did sign a guest book when I went in.  During the following week when I returned home from teaching, I found a loaf of bread at my door with a thank you note from the church for visiting.  This was equal parts creepy and kind.  I felt a bit hunted, but at  the same time I was living alone in a very expensive apartment, so the loaf of bread was appreciated!

Not long after that adventure I met my husband, and he was Catholic and his family went to the church a block from where he grew up, so I threw back on the suit that began to feel uncomfortable for the sake of new love and belonging.  It was ok for a while.  After children arrived, my concerns began to surface again.  They had not been baptised.  Now, I don’t believe you go to hell if you haven’t experienced this, but I do very much believe in parents committing to guiding a spiritual path, creating community and support, offering experiences.  We were so overwhelmed trying to figure out what this parenting thing was all about for a 4 month old, 18 month old, and 4-year-old all at once, the idea of getting everyone to church seemed impossible.  I do realize people do this all the time, we just were figuring everything out at once and that didn’t make the list.  Each stage with the boys seemed more challenging than the one before it and the idea of introducing them to a nursery or sunday school class when they already went to daycare all week just seemed like a bit much.  Beyond daycare while I was working, we did not leave them with anyone else the first year that we had them.  A whole year with no break other than the office.  This might not have been the smartest strategy. 

I digress…imagine that!  As the kids got older, I began looking for a diverse church community with a very strong children’s program.  Mr. Z. didn’t really get it.  We’re Catholic, he said.  You worry too much, he said.  I disagree.  By now, I have inquired into many different church settings.  All the while Mr. Z sits home and practices Catholicism…in his closet?  I’m not sure.  The preschool where BB goes is in a Methodist church close by.  They have a wonderful vacation bible school the kids love to attend in the summer.  We could try there…I just hate visiting with people in the aisle before the service begins.  This might be a weak reason.  They do have a lot going on for children.  While I sit and ponder, another holiday season is upon us, and while I love 25 days of Christmas music and holiday specials on TV every night, I feel a need to help my children experience holiday celebrations from other beliefs as well, have an awareness of what is going on in other parts of the world.  What church will we go to for Christmas?  This is a good question.  While I struggle with choosing the RIGHT community to support and foster our children, I am inadvertently choosing NO community for our children…rather large sense of urgency around this one friends!!

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Great new read…

I finished a Y.A. fantasy book from the library in record time. The Girl Who Could Fly by Victoria Forester is an absolutely beautiful story. I must admit that I was tempted to read on when I saw the quote about the book from none other than Stephanie Meyer right on the cover. She says, “it’s the oddest/sweetest mix of Little House on the Prairie and X-Men. I was smiling the whole time (except for the part where I cried). Prepare to have your heart warmed.”
I was so very moved by this book. The teaser on the back ends with the main character Piper sharing that before she gets into that story, she’ll probably need to tell you a thing or two about a thing or two…”. I like that.
I simply must share a treasure of a paragraph nestled neatly in the middle of the book just in case you don’t read it yourself.
(excerpt from page 275)
“There is a place deep, deep inside every person that is hidden and hard to find. If things get bad enough and life gets too hard, though, some people will go to that place and never come back from it. Certainly, all outward appearances will suggest otherwise. They will look as they always did. They may even act somewhat like their old selves, but the truth is, the REAL TRUTH is that they are hiding in this place deep inside where no one can touch or hurt them anymore.”
w.o.w.
Kids books are not just for kids, are they now?

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Ode to a Sofa AND Damn Computer

I’ve been saving this post…savoring the thought…the beauty of the story and the glory of the picture to attach…this is where you hear the record scratch…you know how that happens sometimes for dramatic effect???   The picture, is temporarily missing…that’s where DAMN COMPUTER comes in…

It seems, somehow, my archived emails in at least two folders have partially disappeared.  How does this happen?  Where did they go?  I did not request they be moved.  I NEVER permanently delete, I always archive even the deleted files just in case I might need something.  The good news is, I can have my parents send the lovely pictures again.  The bad news is they are not hear now.  I will have to paint a picture with words so articulate you’ll envision it just so…just as I did the first time we met; my sofa and I.

This is all new for me.  A response so very strong to an ornate antique.  Do not misunderstand.  Many a time have I happened upon something and not been able to sleep or breathe quite right until it arrived in the perfect spot; or, sadly, those times when I did not act soon enough…it was not meant to be mine…grief and longing can be so very difficult – you know?

Well, I was home visiting my family and made a quick trip to the chocolatier downtown.  This is my mama’s favorite spot and her birthday was just around the corner.  When I walked in, I felt like I was in someone’s home.  It was quite comfortable and the smell, oh my heavenly days!!  I digress; I was after chocolate, but I kept gazing at this sofa in the seating area.  It was low, long, and slightly curved at the ends, as if ready for a hug at a moment’s notice.  There was a stained wood decorative trim surrounding the entire piece which set off the celery tufted velvet so nicely…not unlike the trim on a classic Chanel suit.  The velvet was worn and so very inviting.  I was picturing any number of pillows and throws and enjoying a good story curled up in my living room.  This piece is NOTHING like the style of anything I own.  That is not saying much, given that I have quite an eclectic mix that seems to work for me.  It is just more “fancy” I guess, in a comfortable sort of way; which gives the feeling of fanciful rather than pissy.  You know the stuffy, pissy antiques I am referring to where not a soul was ever snuggled in a comfortable way.

The girl behind the counter told me that the owner found the sofa at Salvation Army for $50.  Insult to injury friends.

I finished my business and left with more than one longing glance over my shoulder at the sofa I hated to leave behind.  When I returned home I was scouring Craigslist for a similar style.  I was pretty certain that finding the style and color would be impossible, but I would settle for a similar style I could have recovered.  Not a thing.  Not.a.thing. 

I stand in my living room and picture it there.  It would be perfect.  Absolutely perfect.

Some day.

Meanwhile, I’ll keep myself busy fighting with my DAMN COMPUTER.

*Meh* it could be worse, right?

(my friend Kellie says that…it is nice, yes?)

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The very small Hen House on a quiet Sunday afternoon…

BB gets to push the cart and CNN can put what we need into the cart and I, super mama can just facilitate…he he he

That worked for exactly one half of an aisle.  Who knows what started the bickering…does it really matter?

The store was completely silent.  Did I mention this?  S.I.L.E.N.T.

It was the aisle with detergents, cleaning products in general (you know the one)…BB whispers really loudly to his sister, “YOU are a m$$&#*r f$#*%r”.

I pause midstep.  Surely not. Not MY child…did he really say that???  Where did he even hear such a thing???  Okay, I know where he might have heard it, but do know it wasn’t Darmagirl.

All of a sudden we really needed to hurry and finish our shopping.  I am speedwalking, I take the cart, explain they’ve both been fired, and all down the next aisle CNN is right beside me saying, “MOM!!  Did you HEAR what he SAID???”

I said, “Yes, actually I did.  We are leaving.” 

I did tell him that was completely unacceptable.  Any further discussion would have turned him into a little myna bird or whatever you call them on horrible repeat mode.  His sister was totally aghast at the audacity of her brother and wanted EVERYONE and ANYONE to stop and take notice.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…a little help here?

 

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Why Must THIS Tune Catch Me?

Sometimes when the rhythm grabs me, and the melody ties me up, the wrongness of the lyrics just can’t matter. I want them to. I’d like to be ever vigilant and not perpetuate tools of patriarchy and all that. I mean really…I don’t want Maria to shut up and kiss me. Not my thing. I didn’t think Willie Nelson was my thing either. Damn song. Just can’t help myself. Golddigger…really??? HORRIBLE! and yet…feet tappin and there I go! Betraying my sense and sensibility. This is not new. So long ago, I thought Prince was so shocking…so I played it really loud from my bedroom and you know my parents didn’t take the stereo – very liberal of them…I think they even ignored Vanity 6.

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Me and My Beast

I ran into a colleague I taught with many years ago; we caught up and met up on Facebook afterwards. She sent me a message and asked if she had seen me driving away in the Land Rover. I said that, yes, the rover gas guzzling beast was mine. She said, “Yeah, I thought so – it fits you.”. hmmm…uncomfortable pause. but I call my car a beast (even though it is pretty fun to drive)…and it breaks down way too often and costs way too much to fix (but it has two giant sunroofs)…
There might be more to say here…perhaps a vignette bit of memoire on me and my car.

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