Believe!

 

I have been in an odd mood this holiday season.  On the one hand, I have totally enjoyed decorating my cocoon for the holidays.  Shelves have been glittered, silver polished, apothecary jars ordered, received, filled with baubles, "snow" and wee Whimbles and the most magical ladders ever.  Friends have been consulted re: menus and eggnog, chilled or room temperature?  Answer: "Chilled with bourbon, but after the first batch it doesn't matter."  I have baked cookies, cakes and pies, oh, my!  Brownies regularly scent my nest.  My neighbors' little girl says my house always smells like cookies or cake.  Having a cat, I am always paranoid about that.  I have a friend that tells me I have traumatized Smokey because when I am home, the minute she does her "business" I am grabbing that liner, tying it up and putting in a new liner and fresh litter.  So, when that little girl comes over and sniffs and says "Your house smells 'deeeeeelishus'!" it makes my day.  I love that child.  Decided to forego the real tree this year, in favor of the Father Fir Trees from Most Magical Wonderful Enchanting Fairy GodMother Martha, as it would have taken major rearranging to have the tree and there has been no time.  Next year, there will be even more Father Fir Trees, my goal is to have a whole forest! And there WILL be a real tree, with lots and lots of tiny white lights.  This year though, it's the Father Fir Trees and lots and lots of vanilla-scented candles in my mercury glass votive holders and my Flameless Candles (God bless my friend Kathie who first told me about them and QVC for carrying that line) in my mercury glass apothecary jars, they are on timers and greet me every night when I get home, with a welcoming warm glow.  So, yeah, I have enjoyed holiday decorating as much as ever and the season.  Have developed an alarming tendency to burst out with "Fa la la laaaaa! Deck the halls with boughs of holly!" at the office, where my singing and holiday spirit are not really appreciated.

On the other hand, in the midst of enjoying all the decorating, baking, I will remember Sandy Hook and a shadow falls.  I waffle between sadness, guilt, missing my loved ones now long gone, but still with me in spirit.  Guilt ensues, a tangle of emotions. I believe in seizing joy, yet how can I seize it, enjoy the season when those families are dealing with this terrible, wrenching loss.  Those little faces are forever etched in my mind.  As I am sure they are on most everyone's.  My panic attacks are back, they have been somewhat held at bay, but they are always there, fluttering at the edge of consciousness.  Sometimes I am hit with an overwhelming, paralyzing fear.  The other morning it took me way, way longer than usual to open my front door, step onto my porch and head to the office.  But I did it and drove in, sweaty palms, hives and all.  Little by little the fear subsides.  To return again when least expected.  I pray.  Prayer, faith and friends are my lifelines.

Last week was particularly difficult, stress at work, difficult people to deal with. Miss Smokey Noelle seems to pick up on my mood, cuddling close when I am most ... befuddled by the way people act. I call her my Little Heart Healer, she offers furry cuddles and soft purrs that soothe my jangled nerves.  Often the words of Elie Wiesel came to my mind about indifference being the opposite of love, of joy, of caring. I had to keep reminding myself that just because the other side is being a horse's rear end, I should not retaliate.  I should, instead, think they must have a reason for being a horse's rear end.  As the saying goes, everyone is fighting some kind of battle, who knows what battle they are dealing with, so even though I feel like smacking them across the miles, I should smile, take a deep breath and put my best foot forward.  Although, forgive me Father, sometimes I wish that best foot was wearing a sharply-pointed shoe the better to kick their shins with (via long-distance).  And, yes, I realize that yelling at them "Just PLEASE make up your minds!" is not a viable option.  But, oh, it is a tempting one!

Sometimes when I see people being rude, deliberately cruel, when I see homeless people, I wonder how they got there, to that point.  What ultimately broke them.  Because at one point we were all innocent, trusting, happy.  Was it a chain of events leading up to the final break in their spirit, was it a cataclysm in their life.  There is a gentleman I see mostly everyday on the way home, he lives under an overpass.  He has a very military bearing, stands straight and tall, he wears an Army green jacket.  Sometimes I see him talking and gesturing as if having a very involved conversation with someone.  Others he is sweeping the sidewalk.  I've seen a car pull up several times, a man gets out and gives him a take-out bag.  I wonder how he got to the point of being homeless and living under an overpass.  What he was like as a little boy, what kind of childhood he had.  There used to be a homeless lady at the intersection where I exit the expressway every night, I would always wave her over. I asked her name and she said it was Mary.  I wanted to write about her.  I asked her if she would like to have dinner with me at IHOP and she said they wouldn't let her in there. I told her I know the people there (it is one of the few places I will venture from my nest to visit on weekends), it would be fine.  That was the last time I saw her.  Maybe she thought I was being nosy, I don't know.  But I sure would have liked to hear her story.  Her face was weathered, deep lines etched at her eyes and mouth, but her eyes were bright blue and would light up when we chatted.

Anyway, this weekend I wavered between happy and sad.  Started out as a Pajama Day on Saturday and turned into a Pajama Weekend.  I was watching the original Miracle on 34th Street and just fell in love with it all over again.  I re-read an email from a friend about a letter to a child from its parents, explaining who and what Santa Claus is, the magic, the joy and the love.  On the internet I read about a young family out celebrating their wedding anniversary with their two little boys, suffered an accident and the husband and father died, how their community has rallied around them making sure those two boys have their Christmas, surrounding the boys and their mom with love and support, prayers.  I read more about Sandy Hook.  What has struck me time and time again has been the absence of bitterness, the huge outpouring of love and support, the way the families have spoken with such love about their little ones, such love.  They all speak about being grateful for having had them in their lives, even for such a short time, about how the world is a better place for having had them in it, about how funny and kind and mischievous they were.  Instead of bitterness, there is grace and faith, such powerful, beautiful faith and grace.

There is still good in the world, in the middle of darkness there is still hope, there is still light.  Even though it tries, darkness will not prevail.  Light overcomes it, reaching into the darkest corners, filling them with peace and gentle joy.  Read a post on one of my favorite blogs, Rx for the Soul, written by a mom about her little boy wanting to return to school, he had been scared, had pulled out his Bible and found words of comfort, no longer scared, he told his parents he wanted to go back to school, be with his friends, he knew he would be safe, because it said so in the Bible.  She wrote: "He had taken his bible and looked at a section it brings called 'verses to look up when…'. He looked in the one titled “scared” and looked up Joshua 1:9 - Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go'."  Pretty powerful proclamation of faith from a nine-year old.  Read another email from a friend attaching a poem about Sandy Hook, reworking the words of "The Night Before Christmas" and ending with "And I heard Him proclaim as He walked out of sight, 'In the midst of this darkness, I AM STILL THE LIGHT'" I thought, yes, You are. Enough of this being scared, enough with the panic attacks.  I pulled out my colored chalks, grabbed my big blackboard from my Most Marvelous Magical Faboo Fleaing Fairy GodMother and wrote Believe!

I Believe.  I Believe in God, in Christmas, the season of Magical Light, with all its light and wonder and splendor, I Believe in friendship and family and hugs, love and laughter.  I Believe in Life.  I Believe, I Believe, I Believe. I know the panic attacks will still hover at the edge of my consciousness, tap dancing in the back of my head, they will be there, but I BELIEVE.  To the panic attacks, I say, bite me. I BELIEVE in something much, much greater and bigger than you. I BELIEVE in the Light.
  

Wishing everyone a Blessed, Joyous, Peaceful Christmas.  Until next time, be safe, be blessed, be joyful and BELIEVE.

 

Choirs of Angels



I can't stop thinking about those children, their families, in Connecticut.  You leave your child in school, wave good-bye, see them walk down the hallway and then you get a phone call that shatters your world.  People talk about gun control.  I believe when someone makes up their mind to do evil, no amount of laws will stop them.  They will find a way to procure the weapon, one way or another.  It is not the weapon, it is the evil operating the weapon and evil is insidious, sneaky, intelligent in a bloody, vicious way.  I read where one of the teachers read to her students because she wanted her voice to be the last thing they heard, what a special human being.  Others locked doors, hid children in closets, anywhere they possibly could, trying to keep them safe.  Evil walked those halls, but there were also angels close by. 

When I first heard about the children, an image popped into my mind of angels singing.  A choir of angels singing them home.  At any time of the year, a tragedy like this would be horrific.  Happening during this most special season, a season we celebrate peace, joy, love, the birth of someone who changed the course of history, makes it even more horrific.  To lose a loved one is hurtful enough.  To lose them through violence, knowing they died by someone's hand, by someone's choice, adds insult to injury.  Impossible to process, impossible to accept, work through, acknowledge.  If it is someone who lived their life, who you can at least say, well, they died doing what they loved, they lived their life, that fact helps to assuage the pain of their death, a little.  But when it is a child, oh, Father in Heaven, it is excruciating.  No matter what you do, think, feel, believe, no matter how strong your faith is, and during times like these what keeps your remaining sanity intact is your faith, what anyone says to you, the only thing you hear in your head is your voice screaming why.

Life is such a gift, we take it for granted everyday.  Simple, everyday, humble acts are repeated by rote, no importance given to them.  They are mundane, repetitive.  We get up, brush our teeth, pour the cereal, wake the kids up.  Yet in retrospect, they are little gifts we fail to acknowledge.  With just one bloody gesture, decision, those moments are forever wiped from our lives.  Gone.  We are left wondering why.  Going back to that saying of how we only see bits and pieces of the picture, God sees the entire picture and it is glorious, it is hard to find how something like this fits into the picture, but we must have faith that, somehow, it does. You cannot make sense of something like this, you can only go on, make your way sometimes on faith alone.  Faith and memories.  Bittersweet memories forever tinged by what once was, what could have been.

Hug your loved ones, tell them you love them.  Even though they roll their eyes and sigh, inside they love knowing they are cared about, loved, cherished.  The other day watching Elie Wiesel on Oprah, he said something that has stuck with me and is oh, so true, "the opposite of love isn't hate, it is indifference."  Knowing that you matter to someone is, I believe, one of life's greatest presents.  Make sure the people in your life know they matter to you.  Life is too short to spend one second of it angry, bitter.  Fill it with laughter, silly times, hugs, love, joy.  Fill it with faith.  In the end, memories and faith get you through.

My weekend plans are to get the Christmas tree, my much-loved Fairy Godmother Ruby is visiting for dinner and tree decorating.  I am baking Snickerdoodles for her, they are her favorite cookies.  I love spoiling her, just as she spoils me.  She is one of the many joys in my life.  I am grateful for each and every one of them.  Decorating the tree is always a special time, you remember past Christmases, where you were when you bought an ornament, or who gave you a special one.  The tragedy in Connecticut will make today bittersweet, as we decorate my tree, how many families are missing their little ones, getting ready for that final good-bye in this life.

Hug your loved ones, be kind, be safe.  Light a candle, say a prayer for those children and the adults who died trying to protect them, for all the families, loved ones touched by this tragedy, for all the responders when the call went out.  Above all, have faith, have faith, have faith.

I know choirs of angels were singing those little souls home to Heaven, yesterday. But before singing, I know those angels were weeping.

12-12-24

 

Wednesday, December 12, would have been your 88th birthday.  I imagine you will have a marvelous birthday celebration in Heaven, with chocolate cake, those sparklers you love so much, champagne and dancing to old Cuban songs, I am sure "Quiereme Mucho" will be played.  I can see you dancing with Daddy, smiling, dressed to the nines, happy.  I still make a chocolate cake on your birthday and light a candle, watch some schzmaltzy Christmas movie and start decorating the tree.  This year the tree decorating will have to wait until the weekend, it's going to be a rough week at work, particularly Monday through Wednesday, so no chance of leaving early on Wednesday to get the tree.  Saturday afternoon, my lovely Fairy GodMother Ruby is coming over to help me decorate the tree (my first REAL one here in the Cocoon), I will bake Snickerdoodles for her and a pound cake (no frosting) for Sis' Mae, her sister.  We will toast with ginger ale (Ruby does not drink and it looks like champagne) and feast on roast chicken, salad and cheesy corn muffins.

This weekend has been good (next weekend will be even better), started early Friday afternoon when my boss gave me the afternoon off, after taking one look at me and saying "You need to get your hair cut, call your hairdresser, see if she has anything open for today."  I have to admit, I felt wooped, shwooped and ready to droop.  But I called and she had an opening and off I went to the hair salon for a much-needed tune-up.  My sister called while I was there, saying she's in town.  Really wish she had told me about the trip, I would have planned differently for the weekend.  But it was a really rough week work-wise and my plans were for a Pajama Day Weekend.  So, although I realize it was a bit selfish, I did not change my plans. Have not heard from her, don't really expect to.  It really bothered me, this continued indifference of hers to my asking her to let me know when planning to visit.  The expectation of my dropping everything and driving over to whatever family member she is staying with (never with me) has to stop.  It is the indifference that bothered me the most.  I should be used to it from my "family" by now, but somehow this one got under my skin for a bit.  Still, I proceeded with my plans and can honestly say it has been a lovely weekend. Slept until 9:20 both days, made Talley breakfasts both days, watched holiday movies, baked, made some truly delish canellini beans and turkey soup and lovely cheesy, really, really cheesy corn muffins to go with it.  Worked a bit on my beloved Whimble stories, which FGM Martha polishes into little gems, gardened a bit with my neighbors this afternoon.  Had a most marvelous telephone visit with her after gardening.

Our chats always energize me and, for some reason, when I speak with her all these memories from long ago and far away flood my mind.  Today we were talking about the story of Velvet and her little mouse friend, Droffats.  Talking with her I realized the story was not only about you, but also about me, I guess I merged the two into the protagonist of the story, a little girl named Velvet.  We were speaking about Abuelo.  He was such a joy, my grandfather.  Really relished his role.  I always remember him spinning fairy tales for me, or carving beautiful things.  I remember the time one of my dolls lost a leg and he carved a new one for her, a perfect little leg, right down to the shoe.  And that beautiful, magical crib with the pale pink tulle netting dotted with teeny-tiny rhinestones.  Would love to have that with me today, it was such a thing of beauty.  For a four-year old it was heaven to wake up Christmas Day and find it in the middle of my bedroom with a baby doll inside!  It wasn't exactly the baby sister I had asked Santa Claus (and the Three Wise Men) for, but still I found it enchanting.  The baby doll wore REAL baby clothes, I named her "Bebita."  I had been praying, writing to Santa, the Three Wise Men, even asking the nuns at school, for a baby sister.  You and I walked regularly to the mail box to send off letters to the City of Paris, where I had been told babies came from, delivered by French storks.  See, that is one of the things I loved most about you, your willingness to go along with the fantasy, the joy and the wonder.  You had such faith in the good of humanity.  You found joy in the simplest of things.  One of my first memories of you is of your pasting beautiful red and gold foil angels on the dining room walls for the holidays.  Some of the angels had trumpets, some harps and you also cut out musical notes and told me that when we were all asleep they came to life and played the most beautiful music to give us lovely dreams.  I remember your decorating this amazing Christmas tree in my bedroom and keeping it lit around the clock, with these teeny tiny fairy lights in all the colors of the rainbow.  Not only did we have a towering tree in the living room, I had my very own tree, just as big (as Daddy grumbled) in my bedroom and no matter when I got home from school or woke up during the night, it was there shining in all its glory.  I remember the fun we had making the town for the Nativity scene, the little mirrors we used for "water" where we positioned the animals as if they were drinking, you would tell me the story of the Baby Jesus and the Three Wise Men.  You taught me so much, MiaMamma.  You gave me the gift of love, faith, imagination.  Of a happy, stable, imaginative home, full of laughter, hugs, joy.

It has been lovely decorating for the holidays this year.  I have been driving my friends crazy singing "Fa la la la, la la laaaa!  Deck the halls with boughs of holly!" and my co-workers, who do NOT share my holiday passion.  Have been really enjoying playing with my wee Whimbles and the most beautiful, magical ladders ever.  Taken some pictures.  Nowhere near being finished with my holiday tableau, need one more wide, chubby apothecary jar and another Whimble fir tree, which should be on its way to my Cocoon sometime this week.  And more white glitter, need LOTS of that, it's snow!  So, Saturday morning off I will go for a Home Depot Garden Center (for herbs, impatiens and marigolds), Bed Bath & Beyond (ivory towels) and Michael's (white glitter and art supplies) run.  I am stocking up on stuff, art supplies, groceries, cat snackies, now, so that come December 22 I can hole up in my Cozy Cocoon for four days, blessed, blessed, blessed be.  Nochebuena will be at my neighbors like Thanksgiving, Christmas Day they will come over for brunch.  Do you know their last name is Hurtado?  Who knows, we may actually be related!

And this Wednesday, the 12th, is your birthday.  You would have turned 88.  For the longest time, even though I love this most magical time of year, the holidays would bring about the blues.  I missed (and still do) having you, the two of you, here with me.  Then I would feel guilty for being blue, then I would feel guilty for feeling guilty because, truth be told, how many people in the world have ever known what we knew.  How many have had such an extended, blessedly long and mostly happy childhood.  For a very long time I also felt bad for being happy (you have a VERY complicated child) because in making a new life for myself, it felt like I was leaving you behind.  One that didn't really have you two in it.  One that actually did not and does not have any actual blood family in it at all.  Then I realized I was being silly, you would want me to be happy, to fly, to be.  You, particularly, knew how to live "in the moment."  One of my favorite articles in Romantic Homes is about this artist who lives on Martha's Vineyard and at the entrance to her (quite beautiful, welcoming) home is her mantra which is "Be Here Now, Here Be."  I know you, Mom, would have understood it.  I am trying.  At times I still wrestle with the past and all that entails, but I have gotten better at letting things go.  Or, as the Beatles so nicely sang it, let it be.

So, this weekend has been productive, spiritually and mentally.  Watched some movies, two of which made me promise, yet again, to never, ever complain about anything, because there are people living in truly horrific situations out there.  One of those movies was filmed in Africa, they filmed in one of the shantytowns, places where people live in shacks made up of anything they can lay their hands on.  Children are born there, grow up there, in horrendous surroundings.  Then this morning I watched Super Soul Sunday with Oprah (love, love, love her).  Her guest today was Elie Wiesel.  Oh, my.  After the show, they ran the documentary of when he went back to the concentration camp with Oprah.  The museum that exists there now just broke my heart.  Mountains of shoes, of suitcases, of baby clothes.  Behind each shoe, each suitcase, each tiny bit of clothing, a story of a life snuffed out.  By human cruelty.  The photographs, the eyes of the people in the photographs, they reminded me of a story that ran in the news years ago, dozens of animals that had been starved, beaten, tortured were rescued, those that were still alive were being taken care of at one of the humane societies.  The camera focused on this one dog, who came up to the gate of the kennel he was put in, and the eyes of that poor, sweet animal, those eyes have haunted me ever since.  They were so resigned, sad.  Seeming to ask, why?  The photos today in that documentary, those eyes had the same look.  Children alone, children with their mothers.  Photos of people standing in lines, some carrying children, some holding their children's hands.  They were told they were going to take a shower.  They were gassed instead.  Why?  How is it possible for someone to do this?  I have never been able to wrap my brain around the fact that people committed these atrocities and then went home to their families.  How?  How is it possible that someone with children, someone who loved their children, was able to send children and their mothers to the gas chambers?  And then go home, have dinner with and kiss their children good night?  And atrocities continue to this day.  Human upon human.  Whenever they speak about alien life existing, I think, well, shoot, if I was an alien observing Earth, seeing how we treat each other, I'd keep going searching for other intelligent life in the universe.  Because, frankly, I would not want anything to do with the human race.  Speaking with Martha this afternoon, I commented that it takes a lot, a lot, of effort to see the good, to see the beauty, because it is ever so much easier to become bitter, see only the ugly, the cruel.  But you never did, did you.  I never once heard you complain, or say "Why me?"  I, on the other hand, regularly had yelling matches with God in our backyard.  Until I realized I was wasting precious time I could be spending with you.

Darn it, I rambled again.  Okay, stay focused, B-Girl, stay on track.  Wednesday, I will come home and even if I get home at midnight, I will bake a chocolate cake, frost it with homemade chocolate frosting made with Hershey's Cocoa, light a candle, make a cafe con leche, and, in my mind at least, I will share a slice with you.  Saturday we will decorate the tree, I will bake cookies, the neighbors will come over for coffee and cake.  And once more I will dim the lights, light the candles and then light the tree, in your name.  I will celebrate your life.  I will miss you all of my days, but I remember you with love, with laughter, with joy.  I was honored to have you in my life for one second, let alone 37 years and 11 months.  It was a blessing, a joy and a gift.  Happy Birthday, MiaMamma, you were, to quote Tina Turner, simply the best.

Thanksgiving 2012





Isn't the above a beautiful photo? It's Thanksgiving bounty personified. I love that cornucopia and next year I am using one in my Harvest decorations.  The photo is from one of my favorite blogs, Frances Schultz' blog, her Thanksgiving post to be exact.  Her blog always inspires me to decorate, bake, enjoy.  She has the best ideas, I snagged her idea for Thanksgiving placecards for my Thanksgiving dinner, that is her work below.  Mine had, more or less, the same notion, but hers is way, way prettier.  That is one talented, artistic lady.  When my neighbors commented on the placecards, I 'fessed up and told them where I'd gotten the idea.  Hey, Santa is watching and I do not want coal in my stocking!  It was a lovely Thanksgiving this year, one of the nicest on record since Life changed.  I have a lot to be thankful for.  I am blessed, I am blessed, I am blessed.

Have been cocooning since Wednesday evening when I got home and firmly closed the door on the world.  Thanksgiving morning, I woke up, made breakfast and went into baking/cleaning/puttering mode.  The scent of corn muffins, brownies and cakes baking filled my little nest, with just a hint of lemon-scented Pine Sol.  Had a lovely Thanksgiving with my neighbors, hands were linked, grace was said and food, delicious, delicious food, was enjoyed.  Afterwards we sat around the table and talked.  It was lovely to spend time with family, just relaxing, sitting around talking, noshing and sipping, then just walk a few steps and I was home!  With leftovers.  Aren't Thanksgiving leftovers the best?

And now Thanksgiving weekend is over. Tomorrow it's back to the real world. For most of us, anyway. I got lucky and was able to take this week off. Need some serious decompression time. Plan to garden, decorate, do a bit of shopping, a lot of reading, some reorganizing, baking, just taking time to breathe. I am done with tilting at windmills.  This week my neighbor and I will garden, we'll do a bit of shopping.  I will de-stress.  Speaking with Most Magical Wondrous Fabulous Fairy GodMother Martha today I told her I have been so angry lately.  A combination of stress from work, life in general, being tired, so tired, all the time, the state of the world, dealing with the muck that is Miami traffic on a daily basis.  Usually I am a glass half full type and take all that in stride, after all eventually I get home, to my mouthy cat, little garden, my cocoon.  I light the candles, give thanks for getting home safely, have dinner, but lately, lately I've just been so angry.  Cynical.  I stopped seeing the good, and just saw all the muck going on in the world, the friends that only call when a favor is needed, the lies and deceit.  Someone told me I am an anachronism and want to live in the 50s, which really ticked me off.  I don't think I am an anachronism, I just happen to like traditional family values and have a problem with people that are in a supposedly committed relationship stepping out on their partner and giving it no importance whatsoever because "everybody does it."  Nooooo, not everybody does it and even if that were to be true, it would still be wrong, you know it's wrong, don't come to me whining about it and expect me to say, there, there, it's okay, you weren't wrong, you just slipped up.  Noooo, you knew what you were doing, you screwed up, now deal with it.  Just because people change partners like I change purses does not make it right.  If you want to mess around, then you should not be putting a ring on anybody's finger or accepting a ring from anybody.  The "it was just one time" deal does not work with me, it's still wrong and you have to deal with it.  Man up, woman up, be an adult, don't just shrug and go "Whatever." I swear, next time I hear that word I am going to slap somebody. That nonchalance bothers me. I think it is indicative of the malaise that affects our world these days. Besides, what is wrong with having traditional family values?  To me traditional family values mean you have faith in God, you love and protect your loved ones, you do not turn your back on them, you love unconditionally, you respect the flag, you do not hurt people on purpose, you do not mock, belittle or mistreat, you behave in a moral and ethical fashion.  In other words, you are a decent human being.  However, having traditional family values does not mean you accept being treated like a doormat.  Being nice doesn't mean you are an idiot.  It doesn't mean you put up with behavior you do not agree with.  If that makes me an anachronism, so be it.  Darn, got on the soapbox again, didn't I?

But like I said above, I am done with tilting at windmills.  I am going to concentrate on my artwork, writing, garden, bake, decorate and get ready for the holidays.  This most special season, I will keep my traditions.  I will start decorating for Christmas on the 1st of December.  On December 11, I will bake a chocolate cake (and make homemade frosting with Hershey's cocoa) in preparation for putting the tree up on December 12.  That was my Mom's birthday and the day we always put the tree up, even when it fell in the middle of the week.  Her favorite cake was chocolate-frosted chocolate cake.  The woman hoarded her chocolates like squirrels save nuts for the winter.  (One Halloween we ran out of candy, she had a huge stash of king-size Snickers and charged me double what she'd paid per candy bar.  She loved Snickers, Hershey's Kisses and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, which is why those are the candies I always give out on Halloween.  Well, that and the fact I happen to also love them.  Chocolate is in my DNA.)  Christmas Eve, I will celebrate with loved ones and attend Midnight Mass.  The other day I overheard someone say family is who you choose, relatives are your biological relations. I think it was on a t.v. show.  I thought, hmmm, that's a bit sad, but I understand the sentiment. Thinking about it over this four-day break, it came to me that I wouldn't change or trade one single member of my friemily.  Biological or not, they are mine and they are loved.

It really is the most magical time of the year, a time for wishes and wonder and dreams to come true.  I will celebrate the true meaning of the season.  I will see the beauty and the wonder, watch way too many sappy movies and bake cookies for Santa.  The season of ultra-commercialism is upon us, try to keep a little of the wonder of the season within you and remember Santa is watching, so be good for goodness' sake!  I leave you with one last glorious photo from Frances Schultz' blog.

Until next time, keep the faith, be joyful, stay safe.  Look for the Silver Linings, I promise they are there.



Better Things to Do

I have been writing a lot about the state of the world lately.  Have no clue why, but this last Presidential election really got me going.  It just brought out the ugly in people.  The way people behaved, on both sides of the coin, just got under my skin.  Not enough calamine lotion in the world to calm those itchies.  I found myself growing increasingly cynical.  Didn't like that feeling at all.  So, I have been  gardening a lot, it soothes my soul.  Grubbing in the dirt, pulling weeds (I like to pretend they are issues and people that bug me), watering, seeing how plants I put in the soil as teeny tiny seedlings grow and thrive is a very good feeling.  Sometimes the little homeless cats (there are now three) that live in my area keep me company, while Bella Bella Smokey Noella keeps an eagle eye on me from the living room window.  One of the things I do on the weekends is put a big pot of soup on before heading outside.  That way when I come back in, the lovely scent of soup simmering on the stove greets me.  All I have to do is whip up a batch of Miss Jodie's Famous Mini Cheesy Corn Muffins, throw a salad together and voila, dinner is served.

Usually when gardening, my neighbors, the ones that have two little girls, will join me.  They'll see me grubbing outside and come out and play in their own little garden.  We are the only families in our area that have made our little patches of grass pretty.  The rest of the units look drab, ours are all perky and pretty with flowers.  Sometimes we talk about how we should just continue planting a garden all the way down our respective rows.  Maybe one day we will.

Thanksgiving is next week, really looking forward to it.  Then I am taking some time off from work.  Need some serious "puttering and fluffing" time at home.  Have one day earmarked for finishing the organizing of my utility room, a/k/a The Black Hole because everything just seems to disappear into it. Open the door, place whatever inside and zoop!  Gone! Need to go through it, pull out the holiday stuff, go through other boxes, donate whatever I have not used/looked at/worked with in the last six months.  Clear the extraneous out.  Want to go to the frame store, have two large and absolutely beautiful works of art from FGM Martha to frame and several smaller prints also from her.  My Whimble wall grows.



My neighbors are celebrating Thanksgiving with me this year and I am so looking forward to setting a beautiful table, making all the delish dishes, they are doing the turkey, the rice and the beans, I am doing the other dishes, including pumpkin pie and (duh!) brownies.  I don't know which I love more the delish food or the not having to worry about driving afterwards.  Thanksgiving at the Cozy Cocoon, gotta love it.  My recent foray into the world of politics has made me want to cocoon more than ever. It's ugly out there and, frankly, I am tired of dealing with it.  I have better things to do with my time than railing at the idiocy, the cruelty, the out and out lies.  Time is precious, a lot of people do not realize just how precious and fleeting it is.  They would rather be in line on Thanksgiving to get the latest electronic toy, than spend time with their family.  Don't understand that concept, then again I know they wouldn't understand me.  The "more, more, more" thing doesn't work for me, maybe it works for them.  I don't think so though, because they never seem to be happy with what they have.  They are always on the lookout for the next thing.  It's like they have a black hole in their soul and no matter how much stuff they put into it, they are still hungry for more.

I started to write this post yesterday and I just froze, overwhelmed by all the bad news in the world.  Some from far away, some close to home.  I tried writing one of my little Whimble stories, froze on that too.  Then this morning I woke up, it's slightly overcast, was going to do an early morning run to the garden center and thought, no, I'm taking a Pajama Day today.  Got up, made my morning cafe con leche and sat down to morning prayer.  This little routine centers my soul.  I realized I was letting the muck of the world hide the good, I was losing sight of all I have to be grateful for, my friemily, my job, cocoon, life in general, because I was concentrating on those that do evil.  I really can't do anything about them, can't go to D.C. and tell all the politicians they are acting like horses' patoots, get it together and actually do the job we hired them for, can't very well drive to Alabama and find the cretins that massacred a bunch of homeless cats just for fun and make sure they get their just reward.  Can't drive up to New York and find the man who didn't open the door to the mother of the two little boys that drowned, smack him silly and take him to police headquarters for processing. Can't take the sign saying "We want our country back" and rip it up into teeny tiny pieces to then throw it over the muckraker's head and make it rain like confetti. Well, actually, I could do those things, I just shouldn't.  Sigh.  And I won't.  Being an ass is not illegal, much to my chagrin.  I was reminded, ever so gently, it is not up to me to exact justice, to fix the world.  All I can do is be the change I want to see in the world (I do love Gandhi), or try to be anyway.  Make my little corner of the world as good, comfortable, pretty as possible.  Tell my loved ones I love them, hug my cat when I get home and she greets me demanding dinner (she is SO my child), trust and thank the Father for my life.  Trust that like the saying goes, we just see bits and pieces, the Father sees the whole picture and it is glorious.  It is all perspective, sometimes we just have to be slapped with it (as one of my favorite blogs recently posted) to be reminded.

Wish I could wave my magic wand and make the world a better place.  But I can't.  I can, however, make my corner of the world a better place and that's what I am going to do.  I have better things to do than rail at the world.  There's gardening, baking, getting ready for the holidays, there's life and love and laughter.  Ultimately we will be fine, we are a strong country and try as they might to divide us, when it comes down to it, we band together and defend our own.  We are Americans.  There's a Perry Mason marathon on t.v. today, love, love, love Perry Mason.  It's going to be a lovely Pajama Day.

Until next time, keep the faith, be safe, be loved.

Presidential Election 2012

I have been writing this post off and on since Election Day, but every time I start writing, I get cranky, ticked off or just want to sit in a corner and wail.  Why?  Well, I'll tell you.  I am tired, fed up, done, have had it with all the discontent and bickering.  I have had it with people holding up signs saying "We need our country back" and "Is this America?" I've had it with people wanting to state their opinion, but not letting those that do not agree with them have their say.  It's okay for them to stuff their opinions and thoughts down our throats, but God forbid you speak your mind, however calmly and rationally you state your thoughts.  Because when you do you are labeled and none of the labels are pretty.  People need to grow up, put on their big kid underwear and deal with a changing world.  But it does not mean we are no longer America, this is still our country.  In the past week I have lost two friends merely for sticking up for BOTH sides, parties, what have you, having a right to their respective opinions.  Mind you, I did not say I am particularly fond of the President, like one of my favorite bloggers ever stated in a recent post, this is a non-partisan (for the most part) blog.  I just said one of them (who really dislikes President Obama) had a right to not like the President, although she should still respect him, he is, after all, the President.  So, for saying that, I was called a Communist, which gotta tell you, having come to this country from a Communist regime, I really do NOT appreciate that particular label.  I can be liberal, for some things, yes.  But that is a far, far cry from having a Communist mind-set.  Hello?  In the second case I was told "your people" (meaning Cubans) "need to go back to your country."  What really struck me as ironic was they were both essentially agreeing with each other (neither one likes the President and both were really upset he won a second term), not that they saw it that way.  I just merely said people have a right to like or dislike the President, both sides have a right to state their opinion and BOTH sides of the coin should be respected.  As should the President.  Like him or not.  Still both of them went off half-cocked and name-calling ensued.

The first comment came from someone who came to the U.S. roughly around the same time as my family did, back in the early 60s.  The second comment came from someone who was born in the U.S. and whose family has been in the U.S. for generations. But still, descended from immigrants. Not a drop of Native American in them.  Why was I called a Communist?  Because I said my friend (the one who later proceeded to say my people need to go back to their country) had a right to her opinion, but she should still respect the President.  Why did she then turn around and make the "back to your country" snarky remark?  Because I said I happened to like Marco Rubio. She could not understand how I could say she should respect the President (a Democrat) and then turn around and say I like Marco Rubio (a Republican).  Yeah, it didn't make any sense to me either, but there you go.  Neither has called to apologize.  Frankly, I'm in no mood to speak to either of them.  If you can't have a civilized conversation, about any subject, with your friends, who in heck can you have one with?  What was up with the insult hurling?  Really?  Communist and back to Cuba?  Hmmm, golly, I thought I already WAS in my country.  See if I bake either of them brownies ever again.

So, got home, turned on the t.v. and it's still going on.  The fighting, the name calling, the all-around nastiness.  Really?  It's done with.  The election is over.  The President won a second term.  Like it or not, deal with it.  But, please, please, on both sides of the coin, stop the name-calling, the bickering, can't you all just act like the grown-ups you are supposed to be?  You are acting like little kids, stomping your feet and refusing to play nice.  Notice I am not favoring one side over the other.  Can't we just, please, put our differences aside, see our similarities and work together to try and solve some of the muck going on out there?  Have we become so partisan that it is impossible to reach out and just work together, respect our differences, respect ourselves?  We may belong to different political parties, but we are all Americans.  Can't you see that?  We may have different religions, but we all have the same Father.  We are all human.  We all love our families, laugh, hurt.  Can't we get past our(sometimes negligible) differences and see we are, in oh so many ways, the same?

But, maybe, just maybe, we are behaving like any other family, where we bicker and fight and argue, but if someone from the outside (in this case it would be someone from another country) steps in to criticize, then we close ranks and unite.  I seem to recall that happened in the not too distant past, on a horrible day in September when the world stopped.  When it didn't matter who or what we were.  A lot of us died that day.  It didn't matter what political party we belonged to.  Those planes plowed into our very heart.  I hope and I pray it will not take another cataclysm to bring us to our senses.

The Presidential election is over.  The people have spoken, their voices were heard and their votes were counted.  If you are not happy with the result, roll up your sleeves and start working on making a difference the next time around.  But, please, accept the result gracefully not spitefully.  If you are happy with the result, also be graceful about it.  Avoid the "in your face" attitude, because sooner or later, you will be on the other side of the coin.  To both sides, stop the negative ads and campaigning, that really turned a lot of people off.  I don't want to hear what the other guy has done wrong, I know what he's done.  I'm not an idiot.  I want to hear what YOU are going to do and HOW you are going to do it.  I want to hear a clear, concise plan.  Not a bunch of negative yammering.  Above all, work together, get past your differences.  There is a world of hurt out there and there is also a world of good, we just have to find a way to come together and make it a better world all around.  We are not a perfect country, we get beaten up by the press (national and international) on a daily basis, but you know what?  We are the only country that come hell or high water, people still want to come to.  People risk their lives on a daily basis to live here, some come in legally, some not. We need to get back to basics, family, faith, decency.  Stop focusing on the inane.  Personally I don't give a fig if Tom wants to marry Harry or Susie wants to marry Becky. I may not vote for them to be able to do so, then again maybe I will, whatever the vote is, if the majority of votes are in their favor, so be it.  Personally, I like the ying and yang of relationships. But I have friends who belong to the ying-ying category and I tend to be very protective of my friends. I don't think it's my place to tell them how to live their lives. There was a time not that long ago, when women did not have the right to vote, when African-Americans did not have the right to marry, let alone vote. Today that seems absurd.  Denying someone the right to vote or marry based on their sex or race?  That is incomprehensible.  Today.  But there was a time when it was the norm.  Maybe someday the fact that Steve and Harry had to fight to be allowed to marry will seem absurd, I don't know.  But I sure as heck am not going to get in a lather because they want to be married.  I don't give a flip who sleeps with who, as long as they comport themselves in a decent and honorable fashion and do not get caught with their pants down with someone who isn't their chosen partner somewhere down the line. It really bothers me to see people touting "family values" and then get busted having affairs, I do believe that is the epitome of hypocrisy. As to those who froth at the mouth saying it is in the Bible and the mere notion insults the sanctity of the marriage vows, well, one heck of a lot of you have violated the sanctity of those vows, boinked others while married to other people, divorced, remarried, cheated (again), divorced (again).  So, shut your yaps and let the Father deal with this issue when Steve and Harry die and get to the Pearly Gates, okay?

There are children sleeping on the streets, going hungry, falling through the cracks in the system.  There are vets sleeping under bridges.  There are elderly people being preyed on and abused.  There are babies being massacred on a daily basis.  There are sick people dying because they cannot afford the treatment they need.  There are churches being desecrated. The church I attended when my parents still lived had a very pretty little garden with a statue of the Virgin Mary in it.  It was a very peaceful spot.  One day after Mass, we walked over to the little garden and found the statue had been splattered with red paint and someone had written on it "idol worshippers will burn in Hell."  That really ticked me off, because (supreme irony) those who desecrated the Virgin Mary's statue call themselves Christian and are really anything BUT. I would never go into their place of worship and say they are a bunch of fanatic loons. I have gone many a round with my sister, because she belongs to a way different faith than mine. I always find it amusing (and also annoying as all get-out) that while I will defend her right to worship, she will not stick up for mine.  Instead she will say that when I defend her right, I am "on the path" to convert to her faith.  This is when I remind her that, nope, not happening.  I happen to like Christmas and Easter (Midnight Mass and Easter Mass being my two all-time favorites, they are so exquisitely meaningful, even if I always sneeze during Midnight Mass and get a "look" from the priest).  I love Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July.  I love birthday cake and do not happen to share her belief that you offend God when you celebrate holidays, birthdays, life!  But I respect her beliefs.  Have to admit, I also like the fact I get extra birthday cake because she won't have any.  Win-win as far as I'm concerned.  There are people being persecuted because their faith is different from those around them.  We need to focus on what matters, get our house in order.  Because a house divided will, ultimately, fall.

Okay, I have vented and I have railed, time to step off my well-used soapbox.  Oh, wait, just one more thing, to those who spout the really distasteful "We need to get our country back" slogan.  I have news for you, you never lost your country, your country is still here.  It always will be here, from sea to shining sea, and, gotta tell you, I lost one country already in this lifetime, I am NOT going to lose this one, I am NOT going to leave this one.  Like it or not, I am here to stay.  I am an American.

Until next time, be blessed, be safe, be loved.

Rambling Thoughts on the Presidential Election

I had the day off today, a welcome treat from my boss.  It has been lovely having these three days to cocoon.  Did not budge from my nest Saturday and Sunday, only poked my snoot out to water the plants and feed the outside kits. Watched some old, really, really old movies on t.v., blessedly with no commercials.  Listened only to classical music, having had it up to here with all the political ads and commercials trying to sell me stuff I either already have (but now there's a bigger, better, upgraded version!) or stuff I do not need but, boy howdy, they do try to make it seem as if it is imperative you purchase it.  Today I woke up early, made coffee, took a quick shower, knocked on my neighbor's door and we were off to the Garden Center, where we had a grand time picking out impatiens (pink), marigolds (could not resist their cheery yellow-orange faces) and three different kinds of mint (orange mint, spear mint and chocolate mint).  Even more potting soil and one planter which her husband will poke holes in this weekend.  They should really make them with holes already, do not understand why they've stopped that practice.  Anyway, we had a splendid lunch, went window-shopping for her daughter's upcoming homecoming dance, it was a nice, relaxing day.  One thing I noticed is that for all the talk of people not having money or jobs, there were an awful lot of people buying stuff everywhere we went.  Maybe the economy is recovering?  I sure hope so, because frankly I have had it with the doom and gloom brigade.

All the while we were out and about, I couldn't help but think of Hurricane Sandy's victims up north, their lives completely upside down, some of them living in their cars, from what I have read and seen in the news.  All these people banding together, helping one another, others giving out food and clothes, all these different, nameless acts of courage, like the man that risked his life to rescue a taxi driver in danger of drowning.  He was safe in his home, but ran out into the storm to rescue a stranger.  He said he could not just stand there and watch someone die.  Wow, he should meet the guy who didn't open  the door to the mother of the two little boys who drowned.  Talk about ying and yang.  You so often only hear the bad, thank God they are also reporting on people doing good.  They tend to get lost in the ratings war.

I read where they may be letting some of those affected vote by email, although you have to wonder if they have no electricity, no power, you really think they are going to be worried about plugging in a computer, if they actually have one or have access to one?  One man said that yeah, he'd lost his house, but his family is okay and absolutely he will be voting.  I tip my hat to that gentleman, because although voting is extremely important to me, I believe if I were in his situation I would be in a corner, howling.  Human resilience always surprises me.  We can get hit by anything and still we carry on.  We help others in worse situations than ours.  In instances like these we see the best of the human spirit come shining through.  We also see the worst, I've read reports where there have been looters.  Personally, I believe if you get caught stealing food, water, blankets to keep warm, you should, maybe, depending on the circumstances, such as was the house you broke into inhabited or empty, did you grab the blanket away from someone else who needed it, you get my drift, get a free pass.  But if you are looting for material stuff? Out of avarice, greed?  Off to jail, zippity zap.  But, I digress, so, okay, off the soapbox.

At any rate, we finally came home, unloaded all our gardening stuff and took a well-deserved break.  I was done.  Going to so many places in one day, dealing with crowds (not  my favorite thing) pretty well much pushed me way outside my comfort zone.  So, I came in, changed into my comfies, made some tea and chilled.  A little while later, I headed out to grub in the garden.  Digging my hands into potting soil, weeding, watering, getting filthy from head to toe, clears my head and calms my soul.  While living with my aunt I kept a planter full of potting soil and when things got too intense with her, I'd just go stick my hands in there, it was a form of therapy, I guess.  Grubbing in the dirt I thought of the Presidential election tomorrow.  Finally, I hope, all the political yammering will be over.  No more one political ad slamming one candidate, followed by another political add slamming the politician whose ad you just suffered through.  I really, really, REALLY wish instead of spending so much money and time on those ads, the candidates would put that money where their mouth is, i.e., helping those less fortunate.  If you have a bazillion dollars to spend on advertising yourself and doing your very, very best to make the other guy(s) look bad, then you should spend an equal amount on charity.  For every ad they put out there, they should contribute the same amount to charity.  For every negative ad, they should contribute double.  For every snarky remark, smarmy attitude, supercilious comment, they should contribute a  certain amount.  Oh, wait, they're politicians, no can do.  Smarmy and snarky are part of of their DNA.  When I finished playing in the dirt, I came in, showered, changed into other (clean) comfies and had a most satisfying phone visit with FGM Martha.  Our conversations always leave me smiling, raring to go and full of wonderful ideas. Cleansed of all the negative politicking ... is that an oxymoron?  Turned on the t.v. and there they were ... the political ads.  Good grief, at this point I am thinking maybe we should fine them, have a limit on the amount of ads, but PLEASE have some type of limit on the amount of hot air they can blow into the atmosphere.  They say a nor'easter is heading towards the areas hit by Hurricane Sandy and there are a lot of people still without power, no heat.  Well, I thought, send a few politicians up there and have 'em talk, the copious quantity of hot air they spew should be enough to heat a couple of counties.  At least.

The other day I took advantage of early voting, yay!  The line was pretty long, but I took my little folding chair, a book, a magazine and water and just scooched along on my chair.  Two men got into a REALLY loud argument while in line.  They were from different political parties, both were Cuban-American, switching easily from English to Spanish and back again.  I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing when one of them kept telling the other "Estas completamente equivocado!" (You are completely wrong!) something my Dad used to say was a standard Cuban saying.  I wanted to get up and ask them "You don't think he's partially right?"  But thought better of it.  Didn't think they would appreciate the sarcasm.  For a while there it got pretty hot and I know the rest of the people were thinking fists were going to start flying.  But it was really funny how despite their ongoing argument, they kept pace with the line moving.  They didn't miss a beat.  People were sort of distancing themselves as much as they could from the arguing twosome.  A while later a squad car drove by and they both shut up. I wanted to hug those cops. Not a peep out of the two for the rest of the time. Silence, at last.

I think we are one of the few countries, if not the only one, where every four, sometimes eight, years there is a complete shift of power and there are no riots, no burning of cars, no violence, no bloodshed.  We are so blessed to live in this country.  Whether we are Republican or Democrat (or Independent), Catholic, Jewish, whatever your Christian faith choice here, agnostic or atheist (which I really have a hard time with that concept, but let's not get into a theological discussion here), we are free to worship, or not, as we choose.  We are free to vote, as we choose.  Do we realize what a privilege it is to be here?  Imperfect as we may be, and we are, still we are the best.  We should focus on our similarities, not yammer about our differences.  Because although I do not know about the rest of the country, not one ad, not one debate, not one comment one way or the other, made me change my mind about my choice.  They just made me wish they'd shut their yaps, do what they said they would do and respect each other.  Then again, I'm talking about politicians here, behavior of that sort is not to be expected of them.

I voted not because I think my choice is going to fix all the wrongs and make it all better.  I voted for him because I think he will do the least harm to our country, our world, our planet.  Let's see what the final outcome is.  Whoever wins, we owe the victor our respect.  We may not like him, but he will be our President and, as such, must be, should be respected. This is a trait that appears to be missing from much of the public today.  Respect.  They toss it out the window and call it freedom of speech.  I disagree, that's like calling the imbeciles that go after survivors of disasters, accidents, and stick a microphone in their faces asking "How do you feel?" journalists.  That's not journalism, that's sensationalism.  And, yes, I know I am repeating myself.  Back to my original point, we owe the victor our respect, because like him or not, he will be our leader for the next four years.  Let's keep him in our prayers, whoever he turns out to be.

United We Stand

Divided We Fall ...

And Then the Pumpkin Caught Fire

This was going to be a light-hearted post about Halloween at the Cozy Cocoon.  How my neighbors and I carved pumpkins, decorated the Cocoon, how I bought way too much candy (because one year I ran out and I am never, ever going to do that again) and got ready for one of my all-time favorite days, Halloween.  And it was a lovely Halloween this year.  My peach of a boss sent me home early, so I was home for the very first trick-or-treaters and the last.  There were swarms of kids this year, more than any other year, so it was a very good thing I had really stocked up on candy.  Like my Mom, I am a big fan of Snickers, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and Hershey's Kisses, so those are the candies I give out.  Mini Snickers and Reese's and Kisses (almond and caramel-filled varieties, I have a feeling Mom would have loved the caramel ones).  The kids' costumes ranged from really inventive ones, LOTS of zombies (do NOT understand that particular infatuation), classic vampires, some very cute little ghosts and one very, very odd hairy creature who claimed to be "Sassyquash."  I'm guessing Sassyquash is Sasquatch's flirty cousin.  Then there was the kid who came back three times, each time with a different costume, but always the same neon orange sneakers.  I know where this particular kid lives.  His family owns a restaurant I ordered in from a lot and he has three younger siblings, who for some reason were not with him any of the three times.  Maybe they went to the mall.  His grandfather came with him the first two times.  Each time he picked out only one kind of candy and politely thanked me.  The third time around I told him, "Okay, third time's the charm, buddy!"  He said "Yes, ma'am, you really have the BEST candy, thank youuuuu!" and hopped off my porch.  He skipped off (effects of the major sugar rush, I'm sure) going "Wooohooooo!" and joined a little group who was knocking on a neighbor's door. It is one of my favorite things about being a "grown-up," staying home, giving out candy and seeing all the different kids and costumes.  I think it's one of the last bastions of innocent childhood, dressing up and banging on strangers' doors, given the times we live in and the horrific events we witness daily, I pray this is one custom that endures.  Under a watchful, caring parental or caregiver's eye. I really do enjoy seeing the different kids, costumes, the general joy of it all, it's like the official Welcome Fall event for me. Like I said, it is one of my favorite events of the year.  However, my favorite kid turned up the next night, at around 7:50 or so, dressed in a Batman costume.  This kid can't be more than seven years old.  I see him playing in the parking lot all the time and sometimes when I have come home really late from work, I've seen him running around.  Always wonder where his parents are.  Well, Thursday evening there was a knock on my door just as I was washing the dinner dishes and there was this kid.  Now, most of the kids that came around on Halloween were with their parents or sometimes their older siblings, they were mostly in groups, but always with some adult or older kid.  This kid did not knock on my door on Halloween, I know that little face.  But there he was the day after Halloween knocking on my door, full Batman regalia in place.

There he was.  Knocking on my door, saying "Tricks or treats!"  Alone.  This bothered me and I asked him, "Where's your mommy?"  He responded "I heard you have the best candy, tricks or treats!" and I asked him again, "Sweetie, where is your mom?  You shouldn't be out by yourself!"  I came out onto the porch and nope, not an adult, kid, neighbor in sight.  Now, I've seen this little kid plenty of times, but I've never seen him go into a house.  "Tricks or treats!" he demanded.  I have plenty of candy left over, which I plan on using for brownies and my Everything-But-the-Kitchen-Sink Cookies, so I scooped some and plunked it in his pumpkin.  "There you go!  Did you get lots of candy yesterday?" I asked him.  He rummaged around in his pumpkin, grabbed a Snickers and said "They took me to a mall, but they gave sucky candy there.  These are my favorite, can I have more of these?  I'll give these others back."  So, we sat on my porch and picked through the candy bowl, getting a bunch of the mini Snickers.  To  his credit, he went to give the Kisses and Reese's back, but I told him he could keep those too.  He took off running after saying thank you.  This kid just breaks my  heart, who in hell is taking care of him?  I wanted to follow him, but (1) he ran really fast, amazing how quickly those little legs can go and (2) following a kid can be seen as a bit hinky, do not want to end up in the news, "assistant to prominent So.Fla. attorney arrested for stalking child after offering him candy."  So, I just stood on my porch and watched him disappear into the maze of units in my apartment complex.  But, still I wonder, where was his caregiver while this kid was knocking on my door asking for candy ... the day after Halloween? How did they know he'd be safe?  Who is making sure he has eaten a good dinner, do they read him a bedtime story after tucking him at night?

I've never raised a child, though I have been lucky and had lots of children in my life at one time or another.  They are such gifts, their unspoiled joy and innocence.  Who is guarding this child's infancy?  He seems like a stalwart little fellow, it takes a lot of gumption to knock on anyone's door the day after Halloween and demand candy.  Maybe his Batman costume gave him courage.  I don't know. But I sure hope he has a safe, loving home.  Someone who cares and looks out for him.  Maybe his parent or caregiver sees me tending my garden, talking with my neighbors and felt it was okay for this little guy to come knock on my door, but I sure didn't see anyone keeping an eye on him.  How did they know he'd be okay knocking on my door?  Know that I would not turn him away, or worse.  All these questions running through my mind.  After working in the pediatrics ward of two hospitals, I have seen a lot of ugly.  People can be very cruel to children.  Children can be very cruel to children.

Then today reading the news, I came upon the story of the two little boys, brothers, 2 and 4 years old, swept away during Sandy's wrath.  Their mother was trying to get somewhere safe, the car ran off the road, she knocked on a stranger's door and they refused to give them shelter.  The accounts differ, the man who was inside the house says he did not see a woman knocking on his door, he saw a man.  The woman claims he refused to give them shelter, she then tried throwing something through a window trying to get in, find shelter for her children.  By then her children had drowned.  The man begrudgingly gave an interview.  The woman's relatives say she is too distraught to speak to the press.  The comments on this story floored me.  A lot of people actually blame the mother.  Saying she should have evacuated sooner, what was she doing driving around in the middle of the storm, she was just stupid for not seeking shelter sooner.  Okay, I get that.  But still, you never know what she was thinking.  She probably thought she could ride out the storm.  The ferocity of this storm was incredible.  These people had no idea what they were dealing with.  Having faced nor'easters before, they probably thought it would be a bit stronger, but nothing they could not ride out in their homes.  Then as the homes started to fill with water, the winds howling, they were faced with this dilemma.  I remember during Hurricane Andrew, we took shelter with my uncle's family.  They had a solid house, we all hunkered down.  My dad had called his sisters (who lived near Homestead where Andrew blew through and leveled entire neighborhoods) before the storm, telling them he would go pick everyone up and bring everyone over to my uncle's home.  They refused, saying they'd be okay.  In the middle of the storm, when it was really howling, one of them called my uncle's house (they still had power) asking my Dad to go get them.  My father said he couldn't go out in the middle of the hurricane.  They were not happy.  But, still, they both had big, strong husbands who could look out for them.  Which always made question where in heck were the husbands and why didn't they drive to where we were?  Why did they expect my dad and my uncle to drive over and get them, hello?  I didn't feel too badly for them.  They survived, so did their houses, they were some of the few lucky ones.  But, still, lesson learned.  Who is to say this woman thought the same way, then her home started filling with water and she fled, trying to get her kids to a safe place. I did not read anything about the father, where he was, if he is in the picture at all.  My heart breaks for this family.  The mother was trying to get to her sister's house.  Her car hit a hole on the way, she lost control, it went to hell from there.  She knocked on a stranger's door and was refused shelter.  The man in the interview was remarkably nonchalant about the children's deaths.  Said it was a tragedy, but she should not have been out in the first place, that the kids had probably drowned by the time she knocked on his door and that had he opened the door, he would have been dead too.  Wow.  What a waste THAT would have been.  Again, the comments on this story gave me the willies, so, so many negative things to say about the mother and, to be fair, about the man refusing to give them shelter as well.  There were some political comments, negative all (Lord in Heaven, I am SO looking forward to this Presidential election being over and done with and not being slapped in the face with yet another political ad yammering on and on about the opponent, I am sick of BOTH sides, so please, save the commmens about being a Republican or a Democrat, because I think both sides blow right about now).  The man being interviewed appeared to be by himself during the storm.  All he had to do was open that door.  And true, maybe the children had been taken by the waters by then, maybe they were already drowned, but he could have opened the door.  Maybe there would have been a slim, but nonetheless still there, chance for those kids to have survived.  Maybe.  We'll never know, will we?

Two little lives were lost because someone did not take due precautions, which to some would have appeared obvious, to others they had no clue what was coming down the pike straight at them.  Nevertheless, two little lives were lost.  Had someone taken precaution, had someone opened the door.  What is that saying in the Bible, something about that which you do to the least of me, I think it's “Whatsoever you do to the least of my people, that you do unto me.” (Matthew 25:40). Two little lives were lost.  A mother's life forever shattered, because once you go through something like the loss of a child, be that child still in the womb, a baby, a toddler, teen or all grown-up, no matter how much you try to build a new world, a new life, that is always there tap dancing in the back of your head, it forever alters you.  No matter what, in the back of your head there is always a little evil gnome singing the "Could Have, Would Have, Should Have" song.  Sometimes louder, sometimes a mere whisper, but still always, always there.  Another life goes on, callously dismissing it as a tragedy, but "she shouldn't have been out in the storm."  Brilliant, brilliant deduction by that man.  One can only hope he is never faced with having to walk in that mother's shoes.  This much I do know and maybe it is because, really, I am on my own.  I would have been protecting only my life during the storm.  I have no children or family to think about or worry about their future.  But I would rather go down swinging, trying to help someone, than to weather the storm, all snug and safe inside my home, ignoring the cries of my brethren.

So, while this was intended to be a lighthearted funny account of my Halloween pumpkins and how the littlest Jack-O'-Lantern caught fire last night because the votive candle we put inside was a bit too tall and there I was talking with my neighbors, planning our weekend gardening adventure, when we started smelling something like pumpkin roasting and we turned around just in time to see flames start coming out of the littlest pumpkin's eyebrows.  Much running and dousing with water ensued.  My cat didn't come out from under the bed until way after midnight.  The Cocoon ... never a dull moment.  It, instead, turned into a post about how cruel we can be to each other.  And it made me think of a miniature Batman knocking on my door and how glad I am to have opened my door and taken some time to talk with the pint-sized super hero, sending him on his way with a hefty supply of his favorite candy, Snickers.  Reading the story about those two little boys this morning made me think of, pray and be grateful for the healthy, blessed children in my life.  We are blessed, we are blessed, we are blessed.  It made me think of two little boys who will never go trick or treating, wait for Santa Claus, blow candles out on birthday cakes.  There are a lot of kids like that.  Some whose lives have been snatched from them all too soon.  Some who are still alive under horrifying conditions.  Some who are still within our ability to help.  We need to remember these kids and to help them.  Not just at holiday time, but year-round, life-long.  We are living in an increasingly callous society where it's survival of the fittest, the weak be damned.  This is not only ugly, it is downright dangerous, because it breeds anger and resentment, never a good thing.  Going back to an earlier post, we need to come together as a people, putting aside political, sociological, even theological issues.  Don't preach.  Do.  Like the famous slogan goes, just do it.  Sometimes the smallest kind gesture has the biggest impact.  It is a domino effect, everything one does affects someone else, for good or bad.  We are all connected.  It is time to recognize this.  We are all one.  We all share the same home, the same planet.  We all breathe the same air.  What affects one, affects us all, one way or another.  Whether we like it or not, believe it or not, we all have the same Father, the same Creator.  Whatever we choose to call this force, God, Father (my favorite), Creator, the Universe, whatever, we are loved, flaws and all.  And, please, save the "if God really loves us why do horrible things happen?"  Because, we were given free will.  Some of us choose wisely. Others choose to do evil, then refuse to take responsibility for their actions.  Free will means we choose our path, we choose  how to react, we choose how to behave and it comes back to us, one way or another, sometimes right away, sometimes eons later.  But everything we put out there, reflects and comes back to us.  Okay, enough preaching, I am now stepping off the soap box.

Be kind to each other, we are all we have.

Until next time, be safe, be blessed, be loved.

This Bothers Me

From cnn.com, this was a comment on Sununu’s remarks on why Colin Powell backs Barack Obama “Sununu needs to go back to Cuba where he belongs. He is not a ‘real’ American.”

It was posted by someone with the tag annebeth66 and really bugged me.  Although I do not agree with Mr. Sununu’s remarks, annebeth66’s comment bothered me.  Why?  Well, who is this person to say who is a “real” American?  What tribe does her family belong to?  Because pretty much everybody who is non-Native American is descended from immigrants.  That’s right, folks, whether you are light brown, dark chocolate or lily white, you are descended from immigrants.  People not born here.  The only people that can actually be classified as “real” Americans, if you are going to take the position annebeth66 takes, are the Native Americans that were here when the Mayflower first docked at Plymouth Rock.

We are a nation of immigrants.  At one point or another our forefathers (and mothers, let’s keep things p.c. here) came to this country in search of a better life, be it freedom of speech, to find work, or freedom of religion.  A great many came over on slave ships.  Remember the folks who came over on the Mayflower?  They came here in search of religious freedom.  Wow, what a concept.  The ability to worship freely.  True, they did claim to be Christians.  So, one may say we were founded as a Christian nation.  But, still, we were founded on the basis of religious freedom.  Not the freedom to worship only as Christians, but the ability to worship freely, without fear of repercussion.  I tend to cringe whenever I hear the term “Christian” these days, because SO many people that bray (the loudest) about being Christian are anything but.  They are quick to point out the perceived faults in others, neglecting to see the huge beam poking out of their eye.  Sometimes I wonder if Jesus looks upon us from Heaven, slaps his forehead, sighs and goes “No, no, no, nooooo!”  Then I remember Mother Teresa, Pope John Paul, Gandhi, the many faceless, but nonetheless still there, people (some of whom I have the privilege of knowing and having as friends) that are in the trenches, quietly going about helping others, away from the spotlight, but truly practicing what others simply preach, and then I think, okay, there is hope.  They have differing political affiliations; however, instead of looking at their differences and arguing about them, they look for the similarities and ask “Okay, how can we work together?”  But I digress.

What makes a “real” American.  Well, hmmm, let’s see, when you are born in a country like ours you tend to take a lot of rights (which are really privileges) as a given and not really value them as the marvelous gifts they are.  Back in high school, it was popular to wear the U.S. flag on the seat of one’s jeans.  A lot of “real” Americans wore those jeans, they seemed to think it a great lark to sit on the symbol of one’s country.  Not one kid from an immigrant family wore those jeans.  Maybe because they couldn’t afford them, I don’t know.  I do know when I made a remark about that particular fashion at the dinner table one evening, I got an earful from both parents about the flag and why one should honor it.  This was around the time when saying the pledge of allegiance became non-mandatory.  A lot of “real” Americans chose to sit and blow spit bubbles while the rest of the kids were reciting it.  Who were the kids saying the pledge of allegiance?  Mostly immigrant kids, who later went on to become naturalized citizens.  You know, not “real” Americans.  We were taught respect.  Maybe those other kids’ parents were unaware their children were not saying the pledge of allegiance, but I tend to think kids, for the most part, mirror what they see at home.  I believe those who choose to become American citizens may be more “real” than those born here who take our precious rights, flag, Constitution for granted, not giving them the respect they so richly deserve.

When one becomes a naturalized citizen, one is CHOOSING to become American.  You are basically saying you are rejecting your birth country for this one.  You take an oath.  One of the phrases contained in that oath (or at least it was in there when I became a citizen many, many years ago, it may have been deleted or revised since) stated you are willing to take up arms against your birth country in defense of the United States.  My father had a problem with that aspect of the oath.  To him it meant he might possibly (not a likely scenario) have to take up arms against other Cubans.  He had family still in Cuba who sided with the Castro regime.  Even though these relatives did not bat an eyelash when he was carted off to jail, he had a problem with the concept of family taking up arms against family.  Not me.  I figured, heck, if I had to take up arms against other Cubans, well, they would be the ones who took my father to jail when Castro took power, or didn’t lift a finger to help him.  I had no trouble taking that oath.  Zip, nyet, nada.  Having arrived in the States when I was very young and having had a typical Southern Californian (back then) childhood, I consider myself American.  Proud of my Cuban heritage, customs, traditions, love the food, but still I consider myself American.  Who the heck is this annebeth66 to say I am not a “real” American?  If she wants me to row my way back to Cuba, because I was not born here, I want to see her row, row, rowing her … boat back to England or Ireland or whatever European nation her forebears came from.

Now, mind you, I do not agree with Mr. Sununu’s comment.  I found it distasteful and borderline (I am being generous here) racist.  Because, at least the way I interpreted it, he was inferring Colin Powell backs President Obama because of the race factor.  In other words, he has made his decision based on race, not as an informed, well-educated, intelligent citizen.  That is like saying, okay, well, if Marco Rubio is nominated for President one day, I will vote for him because he is from the same ethnic group I’m from.  Not because I agree with his politics.  I will vote for him merely because he is Cuban-American.  Wrong, wrong, wrong.  Let me go off point for a minute here and say I am sick and tired of the hyphenation deal.  Cuban-American, Italian-American, African-American.  Enough.  We are American.  Period.  Remember right after the horrific events on 9/11, how we came together as a nation?  Mourned together as a nation?  There was no “You’re a Democrat, I’m a Republican” or “You’re Catholic, I’m Baptist.”  We just were American.  We are a melting pot, true.  We retain and are proud of our ethnic backgrounds, but we are Americans.  Just sayin’.

One of our most cherished rights protected by our Constitution is freedom of speech.  So, just as annebeth66 has a right to spew her vitriolic assessment, oh, I do love the first three letters of that word, they do describe so many, many people, so does Mr. Sununu.  Freedom of speech.  Cherish that right, people.  Protect it.  Because the way we seem to be going, it may well disappear one day.

This presidential election is and has been one of the most distasteful, petty, all-out disgusting, on both sides of the coin, elections I can remember.  The name-calling and pettiness have given a well-publicized platform to a plethora of bigots (of all races, ethnicities and creeds).  Still this country, for all it gets beat up in the foreign press, and in our own press, is the best one in the world.  I love this country.  I have loved it since the day we arrived.  We were welcomed, not only by our friends already here, but by our neighbors, strangers who had no clue who these Spanish-speaking people were, but opened their arms just the same and made us feel at home, safe, wanted, welcomed.  I am profoundly grateful every single day to be here.  I am thankful my parents left behind their country, their way of life, language, families, to come here and give me a better life.  One where I would be able to speak freely.  I am mouthy if nothing else.  People risk their lives for the chance to live here.  They may turn around and criticize it out the ying-yang once they do get here.  That is called freedom of speech.  Freedom.  That is what we stand for.  Whether we agree with their opinion or not, the freedom for people to use their voices and be heard.  Please, get out and vote.  It is not a right as some claim, it is a hard-won privilege.

So, you see annebeth66, a “real” American is not necessarily one who was born here.  A “real” American is one who realizes what a privilege it is to be here.  Who cherishes this country, protects your right to speak your mind, even when they don’t necessarily agree with what you are saying.  A “real” American protects and serves, even when they are not an actual citizen, but a resident.  A “real” American pledges allegiance to the flag and is willing to defend with his, or her, life what it stands for.  That is a “real” American.  Oh, wait, one more thing, God bless America.