Overwhelmed





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The past few weeks have been a bit ... topsy-turvy.  After a wonderful, truly happy, best one in years holiday season, I started slipping into a deep funk.  It started with upheaval where I work.  Things have become very tense around my office.  There are rumors, whispers, meetings behind closed doors.  There has been a lot of work, which is a good thing (at least to my way of thinking, because it keeps me busy and forces me to focus on getting it done).  The amount of work has led to (1) a lot of whining about it from those who do as little as possible and (2) even more work and stress for the few of us who actually earn our paycheck.  I try and focus on the fact that eventually the work day comes to an end and it's time to come home.  Friday does, eventually, roll around, blessed be the weekends.  Sometimes I get home Friday night and firmly close the door on the world, others I make plans with friends and we meet for a crack of dawn breakfast and fleaing.  Or I'm at the garden center early in the morning and then spend the whole weekend puttering in my teensy tiny garden, which has gone from disheveled to beautiful to decimated by some creature who has chomped on all the plants, leading me to clear out the planters and planning a garden center run which has yet to take place. The one survivor is my hanging basket of three types of mints, smells sooooo good! Or I have what Hollye Jacobs (bless her) calls a Pajama Day, only in my case it's more of a Pajama Weekend.

Whatever the day, whether during the work week or weekend, my mornings have the same routine, cafe con leche and morning prayer.  No matter how late I wake up, how rushed my morning may be, my morning prayer time and cafe con leche are a must.  Even if it means not putting on my face, I can always do that when I get to work.  True, I may scare anyone I run into, my morning face is not my best look, I can slap on the Spackle, trowel on the makeup once I get to the office.  I battle the Snargles on a daily basis.  They hover at the edge of my consciousness 24/7, I beat them back with a stick.  They will be overcome.  I come from some pretty solid stock.  I try to stay focused on the positive, my favorite blogs (God bless Connie, Frances, Hollye and Martha) help me stay positive.  At times prayer and their blogs are my lifelines.  Because when it seems like the world has truly lost it, they remind me there are pockets of sanity, joy, humor and beauty left.  It's not all destruction and mayhem, although at times it does seem like it.  Without fail, whenever it seems to be the darkest a new post pops up or a new little story appears, as if by magic, and I see the Light once more.  I am reminded to lead with my heart.  Ah, my Whimbles, I do love them so.

People always tell me "Oh, you're so nice" making it sound like I'm some sort of idiot.  But niceness does not equal weakness, as some have implied.  I merely treat others (or try my darnedest) as I would like to be treated.  Do unto others, what a lovely, lovely idea.  Wouldn't the world be a nicer place if people truly practiced this?  To me it sums up the 10 Commandments (you know, those 10 rules people jabber on about, but seldom actually put into practice) in one swoop.  Do unto others.

Lately I have been sliding into a deep blue funk.  I like to think of it as visiting the dark side of the moon.  The atmosphere at work is not a happy one.  Negativity is the rule.  Started buying into it.  No matter how much I do, how hard I try, the mountain of paper on my desk seems to grow, instead of dwindle.  I found myself feeling overwhelmed on a daily basis.  There is always a fire to put out and stress is the order of the day.  It was getting to be an effort just to get up and drive to the office.  Reading the news certainly did not help.  Is it just me or do others think that the world has gone lulu in the past few weeks?  Every morning brings a new horrific incident.  Women raped while others stand by and do nothing.  People going on shooting rampages.  Animals being mistreated.  People protesting at military funerals while claiming to be Christians.  These things bother me.  The negativity seems overwhelming.  You start buying into it and pretty soon find yourself becoming a full-fledged, bona fide member of the Dementor Brigade.  Not a good thing.

Last week at work there was a minor crisis (isn't that an oxymoron?) and after it was over I just sat at my desk, head in my hands, muttering "I can't do this much longer" over and over.  I felt absolutely, completely, totally (get the picture?) overwhelmed.  Someone walked by and remarked "Stressed?"  I just sighed.  Then they asked me "What is stressed spelled backwards?"  I actually had to type the word and then laughed for about five minutes.  Dessert!  It made me see I have been seeing the empty ice cream dish, instead of the cherry on top of the sundae. I sat down and wrote a little list entitled Silver Linings. I need to keep things in perspective.  Does my job blow?  Absolutely.  At times, I could cheerfully walk out.  Then things even out, straighten out and I realize, it's not THAT bad.  could be worse and not being employed would blow even more. I am employed at a time when millions are out of work.  Silver Lining. I am keeping a roof over my head, kibble in my cat's food bowl and paying my bills, Silver Lining, Silver Lining, Silver Lining. My boss happens to be a decent human being. Silver Lining. I have learned so very, very much in my current job. Silver Lining.  Did I mention my boss is a decent human being?  How many can say that ... and mean it?  Silver Lining. Do people act like a horse's rear end?  Without a doubt.  Always have, always will, it's part of the human DNA.  Read the newspaper everyday, you'll see it's true. But, still, even when you are stuck in a sucky situation, you hear about someone being diagnosed with (as Hollye, bless her, calls it) FBC, or a child being sick, or someone losing their life in an accident, and you know?  It's like, really, put things in perspective, I have zip to whine, complain, kvetch about.  There is a lot of muck in the world these days. Yet, there is also good, a lot of it.  But it tends to get shoved to the back of the line.  Usually.  Lately though it seems that the news media has been putting a bit of good news right next to the usual murder and mayhem articles.  Like the story of the little boy that donated his allowance to an animal shelter.  People banding together and marching peacefully, but making their presence felt, saying "Enough."  People paying for someone else's dinner.  People committing random acts of kindness and senseless acts of beauty, love that!

I always remember watching CNN many years ago, there was a group of soldiers (don't remember where, just that it was overseas) patrolling a town where a great deal of violence was taking place, we (the USA) went in to save the day (so, what else is new) and a woman walked up to one of the soldiers and handed him a flower.  Amid chaos, flowers grew.  If that was not the epitome of a "senseless act of beauty" I don't know what is.

Of course, you also have the nimrod who wrote the "I give God 10%, why do you get 18%?" note on their restaurant check.  Then had the gall to sign "Pastor" underneath and THEN when the check got posted online, went and complained to the employer of the person who posted the comment and got them fired.  Wait, it gets better, this "pastor" went on t.v. claiming to have suffered embarrassment.  Never thought their (yes, I know, I use this word a LOT) snarky comment would be posted online. Well, good.  You SHOULD be embarrassed.  You should be embarrassed your snippy note started a domino effect resulting in someone (the person who posted the comment) getting fired.   And you're a pastor?  God help your flock!  Yeah, you're a REAL Christian ... NOT!  But I digress.  Can't help it, part of my DNA.  I start out on one subject and weave and bob onto all sorts of other subjects.  Nimrods who do stupid things and claim they do so in the name of Christianity really bug me.  Puhleeze.

Back to my original rant.  I was feeling more and more overwhelmed by the negativity at work, the contentious working atmosphere, the general muck of it all.  The world is in turmoil, this is a fact.  We seem to be going through some type of upheaval.  I was focusing more on the chaos, the storm, seeing the clouds, not the sun hiding behind them.  I realize that last bit sounds a bit woo-woo, but you know what I mean. Then this past Friday driving home there was a whopper of a traffic jam.  We inched along, bit by bit.  Some nimrod slammed on the horn as if blowing your eardrums out would clear the traffic.  Have never grasped that concept.  "Hmmmm, let's see, traffic is backed up, let me honk the horn, yep, just keep on honking, THAT will solve the problem!  I am an Einstein!"  There are a lot of Einsteins in the fair city which I call home.  Finally saw flashing lights ahead and the reason for the backup.  An SUV in the middle of the highway and underneath, crushed and mangled, laying on its side, a motorcycle.  Blink of an eye.  My heart and prayers went out for whoever was involved in that crash.  The SUV was in good shape, but the motorcycle was pretty well much toast.  It looked like whoever was on it, swerved trying to not hit the SUV, lost control and slammed into the back of it, sliding underneath.  Maybe they were speeding, lost control.  Blink of an eye.  One minute your life is going along nicely, the next your world is shattered, sometimes beyond repair.  Blink of an eye.  Healthy one minute, diagnosed the next.  Blink of an eye.

My GodMother and Mom, long ago and far away

Traffic cleared, I got home, unlocked the door to my pretty, comfortable, sweet-smelling (Eucalyptus Mint from Bath and Body Works) nest.  My cat greeted me with her medley of howls and purrs.  Standing on my porch after feeding the outside felines and watering my minuscule garden, I looked at the night sky and saw the stars.  I always think of my godmother when I see stars.  Her memory always brings a smile to my face.

Earlier this week a friend asked me to email her something I was grateful for, I responded my faith, my parents, my life.  The first equals the second, the second equals the third, the third goes right back to the first.  That is my trifecta.  Yesterday morning I woke up, said morning prayers, thanked the Father for getting me through a very challenging week.  Had my morning coffee and watched a movie.  Started drafting some little stories.  Late in the afternoon there was a wonderful phone visit with one of my Fairy GodMothers.  Texted with another one making plans for a crack of dawn breakfast next weekend.  It's a 3-day weekend, let the crowds rejoice!  Then came the Very Best News of the Day.  My world expanded by one yesterday.  We have a new baby boy in the friemily!  A child I love as my own, who I have known for what seems like forever and who (along with her younger sister) will always be my baby girl, who grew up to be this amazing individual, married and with a baby who is the Most Beautiful Baby Boy Ever, had her second baby yesterday.  A bouncing, healthy, beautiful baby boy.  The Most Beautiful Baby Boy Ever is a Big Brother now.  Blessed, blessed be.  Mother and baby doing fine.  Pictures were texted.  Messages exchanged.  And I realized that yeah, the job may bite, some of the people I work with are not ones I would have chosen.  But I have much to be grateful for.  I thought back to what I had emailed my friend that I was grateful for, my faith, parents, life.  And I was overwhelmed, not by negativity but by gratitude.  We are blessed, we are blessed, we are blessed.

Until next time, keep the faith, be blessed and remember to look for the Light.  It may be hidden behind clouds, but it is there.  I promise you.

The Quest for Tamiflu

Last Tuesday I had a perfectly nice day at work, came home, warmed up my soup ... and noticed my throat hurt a bit.  Woke up Wednesday feeling like a semi had run over me, stopped, backed up and run over me a couple more times.  Called the doctor and he prescribed Tamiflu.  Which you have to start taking within 48 hours of the onset of symptoms.  What followed was a comedy of errors.  Being at home, I asked the doctor's assistant to please call the prescription in to the Walgreen's pharmacy near my house, as opposed to the one near my office where I have my regular prescriptions filled.  Now, you would think that being the same company, i.e., Walgreen's, this would not be a big deal, all records are computerized, right?  Well, apparently not.  Wednesday afternoon not having received a "your prescription is ready call" from Walgreen's, I called.  They could not find any record of Tamiflu being prescribed for me.  Called the doctor's office, they said they would fax it AGAIN.  Called Walgreen's.  This time they found no record of my ever buying prescriptions at Walgreen's (I refill on a monthly basis).  They also kept calling me "Mr."  I said no, no, no, it's Ms., not Mr.  Still could not find my records.  I repeated my birth date, my full name, my address ad nauseam to various people.  Still no records.  Finally got the situation with my records (miraculously found) straightened out, they still kept calling me "Mr."  Called back in an hour (like they said) to confirm I could go pick it up.  In this case, my neighbor had offered to go get it for me, because I felt really, really, really lousy.  This was still Wednesday afternoon.  So, I call Walgreen's and this is what I get "I'm sorry, sir, we are out of Tamiflu but should be getting some in tomorrow."  Great.  Not only did they give me an unwanted sex change, now they were out of the medicine I needed!  Keep in mind, there's a 48-hour window.

Thursday morning dawned, still felt lousy.  My neighbor calls to say one of their little ones is down with some kind of bug.  No worries, I told her, I'll go get the Tamiflu and is there anything I can pick up for them?  No, they are fine and well-stocked with orange juice, chicken soup, crackers.  Call Walgreen's ... again, back to Mr. and no records found.  That is when I lost all semblance of a cool, calm demeanor and ranted at the pharmacy tech to GET SOMEONE WHO KNOWS WHAT IN HELL THEY ARE DOING ... NOW!  Talked to the head pharmacist (or so they claimed) who assured me they would be receiving the Tamiflu shortly and yes, they would have it ready for me.  Fine.  I took a shower, pulled on some clothes and off I went to my regular Walgreen's to pick up my monthly meds.  Did I mention I still felt lousy? Not the best of times to be dealing with the traffic from hell which is Miami traffic.  Get my regular meds, call the Walgreen's near my house to tell them I am on my way and please is my prescription ready.  Answer, "Sir, our records show you recently picked up your medication at another Walgreen's location."  Really!  You could not find my records yesterday, but today you can tell I picked up my meds from my regular Walgreen's?  And "still have not received Tamiflu."  Did I mention the person at the other end of the line would repeatedly sigh and then say "Ay, Dios mio, la gente!"  (Translation:  Oh, my God!  People!)  Really?  With my last name being as common as Smith or Jones is in English, you are going to kvetch in Spanish?  Exactly what is your IQ?  -40?  Oh, wait, forgot to add there was raucous laughter and salsa music blaring in the background.  Well, I'm so sorry I am interrupting your salsa session!  By this time the 48 hour window is getting narrower and narrower.  Again, I ask for the head pharmacist.  He tells me "Oh, Mr. Robles (okay, they have now changed my sex AND my last name), how are you today?  We have your Tamiflu here, are you going to pick it up today?" I informed him my wife was on her way to pick it up for me.  I was not going down the "No, it's Ms., not Mr." road again.
 
In the general scheme of things not getting the Tamiflu in time would not have been that big a deal, I can always mainline Vitamin C, orange juice and chicken soup and hole up in bed until I'm back to normal, but my heart goes out to those people that are really, really sick and have to deal with rude, obnoxious pharmacy staff who don't give a rat's green patootie that the person on the other end of the line is feeling ill.  Blessedly when I drove up to the drive-through ready to bite somebody's head off, I was helped by a very kind, well-mannered young man who apologized for the mix-up and got my prescription lickety-split.  I am writing a letter to Walgreen's corporate headquarters suggesting they fire all the pharmaceutical staff at that particular store, starting with the "Ay, Dios mio!" numbskull, except for this young man.  Him, they should make head of the department and have him train new employees.  Honestly.  And, please, can the salsa music be turned down or, better yet, eliminated?  People are there to pick up medicines, not do the merengue.  Much as I like dancing, I do not want to hear music when I have a headache pounding inside my brain.  It is especially painful when it starts keeping a beat to the music.

There are various Silver Linings to all this. One of them being my boss rocks. She told me to stay home, concentrate on getting well and not worry about the office and did I want chicken soup delivered, did I have enough food, did I need anything? The thing is she truly meant this which really makes me feel great about working for someone like that.  Another is, serendipitously enough, Tuesday afternoon I received my copy of A House in the South by Frances Schultz, one of my favorite people ever and in between naps (this bug/flu thing has made really sleepy) I have been looking at all the fabulous photographs of lovely homes.  When not leafing through that marvelous tome, I re-read the Whimbles' beautiful offering, The Legend of the Land of Caelumen.  Honestly, those books and their illustrations get better every time.  I can get lost in Caelumen and wish I could move there.  I also have a stock of the Best Chicken Soup Ever in my fridge, it warms my tummy and soul to slurp it (Mom and Grandma's recipe).  I am grateful again and again for my beautiful bed, it is lovely to snuggle in it, surrounded by lots of fluffy pillows (I love my pillows, I love my bed, cozy, cozy, cozy) and my baby girl Bella Bella Smokey Noella happily snoozing next to me.

Yesterday I woke up feeling slightly less fuzzy-headed, I did not wake up with the chills during the night and my throat did not hurt anymore.  My sneezes are still mega-loud, but that is in my DNA and to be expected.  I managed to make some lovely cafe con leche and stay awake for longer periods of time, watched two movies, Mirror, Mirror (loved, loved, loved, the dwarves are hilarious, I love Nathan Lane and the costumes are, oh, wow, those dresses, ooooh!) and The Joneses (Demi looks beautiful, Duchovny's still got it, loved their house, the movie not so much) and managed to start typing  this entry without falling asleep, big, big, big improvement.  I continued re-reading The Legend of the Land of Caelumen, wishing yet again I could move there.

Today, I woke up feeling almost back to normal.  I have not taken a single nap and managed to finish writing some little stories I've been working on for a while.  And now, if you will excuse me, there's one last bowl of chicken soup to slurp and some sketches to fiddle with.

Until next time, be blessed, wash your hands, take extra Vitamin C, drink plenty of orange juice, sleep a full eight hours and if you have not already done so, get your flu shot!

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.