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.