There was a second – just a nanosecond, really, the briefest of time when I wanted a baby. It started quietly enough, if a nanosecond has enough time to even have a start. I was ambushed by a commercial the other night. Stuck in an office with a tiny 12″ television, I was hunched over, head propped up on elbows, watching the same ‘Rudolph, the Red-nosed Reindeer‘ I did as a child. During the commericals I reminisced about HomeHome. Growing ever nostalgic, I could picture the tree, needles on the floor, crisp smell of pine. The generations old handmade ornaments, colorful soldiers at attention, sequined, glittery ice skates, twinkling white lights. Chunky stockings filled with nuts, oranges and batteries. I had the cat, you the reindeer. Tinsel draped over the cat’s head with mischievious giggles. Tie a ribbon around her neck, it’s Christmastime. The Merrymen singing about Christmas in their Caribbean land and little drummer boys. White packages drawn up with red string. Something to open on Christmas Eve. Watching the horses, waiting for a hint of sunrise. Coffeecake wrapped in foil on the corner of the woodstove, gently warming in time for breakfast. The smell of coffee and hot chocolate in the air. Start the generator so we can turn on the lights. I was picturing it all, getting lost in the memories of Christmas on a snowy, distant island. I wanted to go home. Could I be there in time for Santa? Suddenly completely ripe with nostalgia I heard ‘Silent Night’ by Josef Muhr and Franz Gruber (my favorite holiday hymn). I looked up in time to see peaceful, sleeping babies but instead of seeing them as a shameless plug for diaper products, I saw a lost future. My father’s nose, my mother’s eyes, my husband’s lips, my hands. Tradition handed down in a family trait. Lost forevermore.
Category: Life
Signed Sealed Delivered
My favorite tradition of the holidays has begun. A trickling in. A sending and a receiving. I’ve always had an affinity for writing and opening postal exchanges. There is magic to mail – an excitement in the sending as well as the arrival, an anticipation in the opening, an eagerness in the reading. I know that’s what makes Nick Bantock so exciting. There is such a joy to see, tucked between bills and “to current resident” a holiday card in red or green, peeking. 
With address book open (A is for Adam, Alec and Amy), I will organize my holiday cards by personality. Religious born in Bethlehem quotes go to my praying friends. The adorable, sad eyed, beribboned puppy in the Santa hat will be sent to the animal lovers in the group. Joke cards for the always laughing. The special $3.98 one of a kind Hallmarks go to the I-Can’t-Afford-To-Give-You-A-Real-Gift special friends. Once the cards are sorted and labeled I stamp and sticker them. Stickers are important and always have been…at least since I was eight. Snowflakes and Santa hats, Christmas trees and harp holding angels. Stickers are important, but postage stamps are even more so. It’s improper to send a holiday card without the perfect holiday stamp. I always notice these things. There is an exception – sending to someone who doesn’t give a hoot and probably won’t notice the stamp anyway. Hard to imagine but true! My friend Ant is getting Babe Ruth (post Red Sox), but even then I put thought into the stamp selection. Ant is a h u g e Yankees fan.
None of the stamps I chose really match up with the recipient, nor are they by accident. My Jewish friends will get chubby Santas, my Catholic one’s…the menorah. Colorful Kwanzaa. Spreading diversity through the U.S. postal service. 
After stamps and stickers I will move onto addresses. This is the most tedious part of my process. Not everyone can keep the same address from year to year. Nine different couples have moved in the last 365 days. If I liked the addressing part better I would take my time with fancy calligraphy, glittering ink and curly-cues. I like curly-cues. 
All of this prep work starts the first week of December. I want it finished so that by the time I actually sit down to fill out the card I’m doing the exact opposite. I’m not filling them out as one would fill out a medical profile or an employment application. I don’t want to just go thru the motions, or just sign my name. If that were the case I would invest in a special made-to-order rubber stamp with my signature or pay for preprinted, generic holiday cards that read, “Happy Holidays from the Spencers.” I get a few of those and it’s always such a disappointment. No. Instead, I want to take my time. It’s Christmas after all. I’ll find a picture of you, prop you up and stare at your image until I can write to you. To You. It might be my only letter of the whole year, but I won’t skimp on the thought process. I’ll send my best, from my heart…as the song says, with love from me to you.
Glad I’m Crazy
Because I am crazy I got to hear the bells at the church ringing out recognizable carols. The sun was shining and I had a sidewalk…and I had beautiful bells. Who knew that ‘Silent Night’ could sound so enchanting chiming from a church? I almost wanted to stop in the sunlight and soak up the sound. If sanity ran through my veins I would have missed the bells all together.
Because I am crazy I got to see the neighborhood I work in up close. It’s not so bad. I mean, I had sidewalks for the entire two miles, no one threw anything at me (or gave me a second glance), and, the highlight of my adventure, I barely saw any trash. No hypodermics, no spoons, no condoms, no beer cans/ Not even a nip bottle of Jack. All the things I expected to step over and around were simply not there. Beautiful.
Because I am crazy I more than got in my 10,000 steps. From what I hear, isn’t that what’s recommended these days? At least that it what it said in the instructions that came with every pedometer I’ve ever gotten. I should have been wearing one today because I got at least that much exercise on a day “off”.
Glad I’m crazy.
Something To Look Forward To
So, I went to a blog “class” yesterday. You might ask why. I’m asking myself that today. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy myself in the class. It’s not that I didn’t learn anything new. It’s a puzzlement/disapointment because I didn’t plan on making this any bigger than it already is. Note, I said didn’t.Here’s what happened: the class was taught by someone who introduced herself as someone who prefers wikis over blogs and thinks that the whole blogging thing has gotten out of control. That may be true, but why say it to a roomful of BloggerHopefuls, BloggerWannaBes? Nevertheless, she taught me about Vox and for that alone, I am grateful. It handles pictures much easier than Here or There. I’ve already “posted” a dozen shots on the *~new!~* space.
Here’s the deal: I have the strictly academic, mostly anemic blog on that OtherSpace; I have the running, only running blog on xanga; and I’ve got my happy ranting home right here on WordUpPress. Now, I’m adding a photo-IfYouWill-blog on the *~new!~* site. Yup. One more place to go. Here’s what else I’ve decided: I am going to track allll the charity mail that solicits my address (starting in ’07). I’ll review what I receive in the mail and I’ll keep a $dollar amount$ tracking on how much I actually spend on give to these places. My resolution for the new year (if you can call it such) will be to research these non-profits and just see how good-for-the-planet they really are AND see how much of a sucker they take me for. Any bets on the final figure for December 31st, 2007? Yes, I’m including entrance fees to charity runs.
Another “plan” for 2007 and the *~new!*~ blog is to do an “On This Day…” or “National (fillintheblank) Day” post. This was inspired by the smartypants who pointed out I enjoyed ham on National Veggie Day. I’m curious now.
Gift of Prophesy or Blah Blah Blog
Shoot Me Now
When you’re not feeling well everything stops. You can’t imagine driving a car, eating a meal or getting dressed. Lifting your head is even a chore. Such was my downfall last night. I started out feeling achy and blamed it on the run. Later it progressed into something worse. Whether it was food poisoning or the stomach flu, it definitely involved the digestive system in the most horrible way. All night long. A L L night long. I read an entire book in the bathroom. By five a.m. cramps had me curled in a fetal position on the cold tiled floor wanting someone, anyone to shoot me. I mean really, Shoot. Me. Now. Instead, I crawled to my husband and asked him to take me to the emergency room. It hurt that bad, but we didn’t go. Instead he took care of me myself and moi all by himself. Minute by minute, hour by hour. It seemed irrelevant that he had a Patriots game to go to later that morning. He stayed by me, loved me sick and all. He would have held back my hair if I asked.
Ten hours later and the Patriots won. I’m starting to feel better. I haven’t moved from the bedroom and I’ve watched more episodes of America’s Next Top Model than I care to admit. I missed work and I’m afraid to eat anything. Ugh
So, if I blew you off today, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t wish my day from hell on anyone.
You Tried Again
You tried again to connect to me. You invited me out and from the moment you did, we both knew it was a mistake. From the moment the invitation left your lips your eyes betrayed your true feelings, your true mistake. If there was ever a time you wished you could reach out, grab those words back, and cram them into your mouth, this would be it. Take them back if you could, I am so sure you would, because you should. Was it because of my instant dismay? How badly did it roll across my face? Your invitation deflated me. I was getting comfortable with the Let’s Not Push This. Your invitation disappointed me. No was on my lips but I didn’t want to be the one to offend. Lamely, I mumbled something about checking my schedule. I looked at my feet and the clouds, anywhere and everywhere save for the space between us. You have always said you are the smarter of the two of us. Imagine my relief when you brilliantly thought of a way to retract your invite. You were skillful, yet transparent. I see how it is and I want it that way.
Funny
|
Because I’ll Bite Your Head Off (public) Re: my “preferred” list. PLEASE don’t be offended if you aren’t on my list. Please don’t be offended if one day you are on it and another you’re not. I am extremely emotional lately and I’m saying things off the cuff, out of my ass, whatever. I’m just saying things that I know will be taken the wrong way by the people who don’t know me that well. I’m also bringing up deep, dark shit that sometimes I need to say loudly out loud just to be confrontationally loud. It’s all in an effort to get rid of a massive amount of anger, frustration and, yes, fear (and we all know what Yoda says about fear). So, having said all that, trust that I love you guys (especially the subscribers – I think you’re crazy, too). I don’t mean anything personal by the “preferred”. |
I find it really funny that I even had a preferred list. I might be the only one. Still, I laugh. From that other place:My Perception
I’ve come to find out my perception is not your reality. In reality, maybe it’s no one’s reality. Well, except for in the funhouse that is my head. Everything in there is real. Of course.
See, here’s how it all went down. We went for the caffeine. Couldn’t you tell by the small that I was trying to cut back? Here’s what I wanted: 1/2 decaf, 1/2 hazelnut. Here’s what I got: empty and empty. That sucking, gurgling, empty noise, it made me giggle. Here I was, trying to be better to moi~self and I was coming up Empty, literally. They were quick to come back with fresh pots of decaf and hazelnut so I tried again. Here’s what I got: cold coffee. It was really starting to be humorous. Maybe the answer wasn’t coffee after all. Maybe I should have tea or chai. I laughed at the irony and made a stupid joke only Ruby would get, “if we hit all red lights it’s really going to be a bad day.” Not what you wanted to hear. After all, you are the one who said, “I would do anything to make you happy,” one hand on the steering wheel, one hand on my leg. Quick glances to my face to make sure I believed you. Anything to make me happy, and here I was threatening a bad day. Can’t say I blame you. A bad day controlled by street lights? Whoever heard of such a thing? No one except Ruby and that’s why things went from bad to worse. You told me to relax. Okay, worst. I hate that word. I don’t know why. My reality was I had been having a good day until you flirted with the perception that is wasn’t. My bad for making a joke you wouldn’t get. It’s just caffeine. Relax.
No Heat For You
My husband and I are decked out in our Santa hats. He’s in Patriots red, white and blue because The Game is on the big screen. I have to raise my voice to be heard, but that’s okay. I’ve had my way with BubbleGum all morning. Try! and Continuum continuously. We’re both humming “Gravity” under our breath. We’re twins – We’re wearing the Santa hats, sporting the holiday cheer, not because I’ve been a Christmas freak this entire weekend, but because I refuse to turn on the heat. How ironic. I spend time writing out my holiday card list while thinking warm thoughts, but I won’t turn crank the thermostat. I bought more gifts this afternoon – Dane, Ruby and Mom all got a little something more – but I’m being miserly with the oil. What gives? I blame it on the way I was raised. Really. I can hear my parents now, “Cold? Put on a sweater. Where are your slippers? Have some tea.” I am my mother’s daughter for sure.
Happy Birthday.
Decked Out
The apartment is Christmas decked out. Christmas ready. Big time. I don’t know how it happened. One minute we are at the Warehouse, buying kitty litter, mouthwash and paper towels, the next we are decorating not one, but two Christmas trees. This was supposed to be a day of chores – changing light bulbs, putting away loads of laundry, using up leftover avocados. Instead, it became one of Christmas music (Babyface, Merrymen and a mix), white twinkle lights up the stairs, colored twinkle lights in the kitchen, unwrapping goofy, beautiful, precious ornaments. We decided my Charlie Brown tree of nearly 20 years was finally too small for all the ornaments collected over all those years, so we upgraded to a four foot fake. I’m okay with not getting the real deal. Some traditions are too sacred for anything but the island. We agreed to get balsam and bayberry scented candles to compensate. This is how my husband rocks: after we had gone out shopping twice he noticed we needed a ground plug adapter in order to have both trees lit at the same time. He went out again just to get the adapter and came back with even more lights!
I’m liking the twin trees. My old tree sports cartoon decorations: Scooby, Marvin the Martian, Cookie Monster, a green M&M, Rudolph and Pooh Bear amongst the colored lights…while the new tree has white lights and “grownup” decorations: blown glass of purple and gold, a crystal angel, a ceramic cat, a shell, icicles of glass. Everything means something. Chessie’s tags, a champagne cork, Now and Zen in purple and green, bells from a wedding, a knit reindeer, a turtle my aunt just sent me, a carousel horse, earrings from an old boyfriend too tacky to wear but perfect for a plastic tree…all of it has a place in my heart. By the time I’m 60 maybe I’ll have three trees!
This is the first time I have looked forward to a holiday so much. Hmmm. I can’t really say that because I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking forward to. It’s not like I’m counting down to December 25th. There isn’t a definite end in sight. I can’t explain it. It’s more a feeling, more of a spirit, the spirit than anything else. I can’t really explain it. But, I’m there. I’m in that spirit. Big Time.
Even dinner had a different spin on it. I made Mexican soup, a la Tyler Florence. So, so good.
Onion, garlic, jalapenos, tomatoes, salt and pepper in a stockpot sauteed in olive oil. Simmering chicken stock, shredded chicken and cubes of avocado. Topping with crispy fried tortilla strips, cilantro and lime juice. Tyler has a conversational tone in his cookbook. He wants to “walk me through” the recipe. Everyone knows Tyler. He’s the new spokesperson for Applebee’s. He rocks, too.
Lazy
Scrub the shower in bathroom I. Scrub the toilets in both bathrooms. Wash out the sinks. Wash the laundry. Load 1, load 2, load 3, load 4. Fold, fold, fold, fold the laundry. Take out the trash. Pay some bills. Wrap some presents. Sweep the floor. Order more Christmas presents. Balance the ledger. Wash the dishes. Put away said dishes. File some paperwork. Wash the curtains. Vacuum. Up the stairs. Down again. Make a Tuscan salad. Write a thank you letter…everything in my pjs. So lazy!
Tuscan Salad courtesy of The High-Energy Cookbook by Rachael Ann Hill (London: Ryland, Peters & Small. 2004).
Salad: Dressing:
Cannelli beans Mustard
Kidney beans EVOO
Red onion Vinegar
Green olives Garlic
Tomatoes Tarragon
Avocado Parsley
Chives S&P
Over lettuce. We’ll see how it all turns out.
Today was a day of catching up, for slowing down. Watched a lot of bad tv (sorry Tyra) and forgot to eat.
Christmas Goofy
I feel like the Grinch after his heart grew three sizes. I’m not moved by roast beast, but I suddenly “get” it. I’m in the Christmas spirit. Probably the biggest spirit I have ever seen. I want white twinkle lights on my ceiling, the smell of balsam & cinnamon in every room, pine needles on the floor (yes, I want a real tree), hot apple cider mulled wine, and Mel singing ‘Some Kind of Winter’. Okay, I would like Christmas here, now. One of my oldest friends confided that she *might* be moving home and that alone was a gift. Christmas in a phone call. Only 35 days early, too!
I showed my husband the Christmas presents I bought yesterday with G. I love, love, love the idea of getting something for everyone in my heart – seriously. My gift to you might be small, tiny even, but know that when you open it I was thinking of you. Still am. Will continue to.
More gifts came in the mail today. I can’t wait to sit on the floor, surrounded by gift paper, ribbons & bows, clever tags and tape. Can’t wait to start wrapping. I bought something for a special space. I bought something for a beautiful face. Well, a few of those actually…
My husband gave me gifts last night: new music on my mp3 player. Gary Jules and BubbleGum and Robinella … I’m not sophisticated enough to do all that transferring by myself. In order to make room for this new stuff I gave up songs like ‘Boris the Spider’ and ‘Highway to Hell’. Great songs to run to, not so good for cooking. I kept ‘Miss You’ because I miss him. I kept KT because it reminds me of a girl. Songs are like gifts, they bring me to you. One way or another. So, I need James Blunt so I can miss my sister. I want your favorite song so I can think of you, too.
I have one Christmas dilemma…I need to research a gift for my nephew. He needs books on tape. Nothing visual, just audio. He’s this side of three so he needs something sturdy – something he can knock around, something that can occupy him while little brother is sleeping/nursing… Truthfully, I wanted to get him something drum-like. Something to bang, but I don’t think that will go over too well with his mom! Any suggestions on the audio book thing?
For Ruth
Ruth Etta Ives, 59
PEMAQUID — Ruth Etta Ives, 59, of Pemaquid, passed away on Nov. 13, 2006, from a malignant brain tumor. Ruth was born on Jan. 17, 1947, the daughter of Charles and Velma Drake and stepfather Robert Sutter of Wiscasset. Ruth is a 1965 graduate of Wiscasset High School and 1969 graduate of the University of Maine at Orono.
From 1971 to 1972, Ruth studied theology at the University of Edinburgh, Scotland where she met her husband, the Rev. Robert Ives. They married in 1973, and moved to Monhegan Island, where for two years they taught together in the one-room school house while Robert was the island minister. They moved to Loud’s Island in Muscongus Bay for two years (1975-77) where they served as the island ministers in the summers and in Sheepscott in the winters. After serving the New Harbor and Round Pond United Methodist Churches from 1977-1979, Ruth and Robert founded the Carpenter’s Boat Shop in Pemaquid. For 27 years, they have welcomed apprentices into their home to learn the craft of wooden boat building and to discern direction for their lives. Ruth always welcomed any person, offering a cup of tea and a blueberry muffin. She corresponded with thousands of friends and former apprentices, and wrote over 50,000 letters while at the Boat Shop.
Ruth also helped found the Community Housing Improvement Project (C.H.I.P.) in 1984, and for nearly 15 years helped coordinate the annual ecumenical CROP Walk to benefit world hunger relief. Ruth was an active member of the Second Congregational Church, U.C.C. of Newcastle.
Ruth leaves behind her husband of 33 years, the Rev. Robert Ives of Pemaquid; children Hilda Ives Wiley and her husband Peter of Cambridge, Mass., Jonathan Ives and Hannah Ives of Pemaquid; and her brothers Bob and Bill Sutter of Wiscasset, and Scott Sutter of Boothbay.
The memorial service will be held at St. Patrick’s Church in Newcastle on Saturday, Nov. 18 at 1 p.m. A family burial will be held at the Harrington Meetinghouse Cemetery in Pemaquid.
In lieu of flowers, the Ives family requests that gifts be given to: C.H.I.P (Community Housing Improvement Project) P.O. Box 6 New Harbor, Maine 04554 or any organization that is working to promote justice, love, and peace within your local community. Ruth always tried to think globally and act locally. Ruth Etta Ives
Portland Press Herald November 15, 2006
Seriously Searching
My friend wraps friends around him like a blanket when he hurts. I shrug the blanket off and shiver in the cold of solitude without a second thought. It’s my nature. I prefer to coil snake-like up and scare everyone away with my forked tongue. I say things unkind and push harder than I mean to. I’m grateful for the people who push back. The ones who don’t go away just because I tell them to.
Last night I tried to pull the blanket back over my shoulders. Meeting S&G, traveling with A, I was trying to get back to where I thought I belonged. Self diagnosis & self medicating. We went to see sirsy again. One week after Kinsale I was back again. This time in CT. Manchester. Home of David’s Bridal House of Hell. I seriously hope sirsy gets another gig at this Main Pub (nowhere near Devilish David). While the food is borderline healthy and almost anti vegetarian (one veggie sandwich to speak of, no veggie salads worth mentioning…you get the picture), it was decent. Buried on the Fried Food Fantasia menu I found something worth digesting. The place had a cool atmosphere, a hum of a vibe…and fauxs!
But, back to the music. Carnival – instead of Natalie being naked she’s now hooking up with Sting. How bizarre. At least I heard my name. With eyes closed I sat bar stool still for ‘Still’. When Mel explained the backstory I wanted to order a glass of Merlot and doctor it with salty tears. This was the first time I was able to listen to everything (no offense Kinsale boys). I think November might be my new month of misery.
As with before, I am not going to review the night – not saying good or bad – except to say someone told me she told me she doesn’t like the new “thing” in WFR and I disagree. Strongly. Folsom Prison Blues was a good addition to the setlist. I’m not sure if it was meant as a Fraggle Rock joke, but I really like that song. Take it seriously because you do a good job with it. Really. PLMB is my stumbling block. I am trying to listen to it like I’ve never heard it before so I can love it again. I’m getting there. Still.
Despite having a headache from hell I was happy to be out of my element. For the night. I am supposed to do it all again tomorrow night, but I’ve decided to shrug off the blanket of friends and find my own hero. We haven’t seen each other all week. He might have to work the overnight a g a i n. If not, we have Tivo to catch up on. We have each other to catch up on.
But, back to the music. I’m not where I want to be where seriously is concerned, so I’m searching for the trust. Trust me. I haven’t given away my blanket of anything.
~*LunaSea*~ 