Thankful ...

This year in a rare coincidence Thanksgiving falls on the first day of Hannukah (the Festival of Lights, gotta love that term). Isn't that something? If I read correctly, this has not happened since 1888. I like to think that maybe, just maybe, it is the Father's way of telling us to come together, putting aside our differences, some petty, some not so much, and just being a family, sharing a meal, conversation, time. I always remember when after 9/11 we all worshipped together, as one, regardless of our individual beliefs, faith, we came together as a family.  We are, after all, part of one great big family, the human family. We are all, regardless of race, ethnicity, religion, political affiliation, whatever, His children, and one day, hopefully, we will all sit at the same table in peace, joy, harmony.

Saw an article on the web, www.today.com/holidayguide, under the Good News tab, and had to write about it, For 28th year, man hosts Thanksgiving dinner for strangers.  If you get a chance, read it, guaranteed to give you the warm fuzzies.  It is about a gentleman by the name of Scott Macaulay who has hosted Thanksgiving dinner for 28 years (since 1985) for strangers by placing an ad in the newspaper saying if you are alone on Thanksgiving, come on by.  It started the year his parents got a divorce (he was 24 at the time).  He thought nobody should be alone on Thanksgiving, so why not open his home to people that had nowhere to go?  The tradition has continued.  He's gotten people from all walks of life, from EMTs to cancer patients, low income families, nursing home residents to police officers to recent arrivals to the U.S.  Everyone is welcome. I love this man! He prepares everything by himself, ensuring that everything is up to health codes and that wherever he holds his dinner (as the numbers have increased, he has had to change venues) looks like a home, bringing in furniture, lamps, candles, tables, making everything look cozy and homey.  He welcomes all.  He does this all himself, does not receive (or accept) contributions, wants to stay in the background.  Does not seek the limelight.  Now, that, my friends is a walking, talking example of Christian values, of what human values should and can be.  Wow, what a nice story to wake up to, especially on this day.  There is hope for humanity after all.

Today when we gather round the table and give thanks for all our blessings, let's give thanks for people like this gentleman who restore one's faith in people.

Happy Thanksgiving!  A Happy and Most Blessed Hannukah!  Let's be kind to each other and keep the faith!

Full Moon Memories

Recently I emailed a friend about a post on her blog where she mentioned a friend of hers was losing her Mom to Alzheimer's, telling her I hoped her friend was okay, that I would be praying for her friend and her friend's Mom.  It hit me, the way her friend expressed herself, saying her Mom was slipping away and how difficult it is to watch it happen, to see someone who was once vibrant, outgoing, happy just fading right before your very eyes.  Reminded me of when my Dad was going through the very same thing.  Not due to Alzheimer's, but just fading away.  See my Dad had a heart attack at the beginning of December, some years ago.  Sometimes it feels like it was centuries ago, others it feels like it was yesterday.  He was in a coma for about two days and then one morning he just came back, extubated himself (which totally blew the nurses' minds) and demanded to see me and my Mom.  His memory was wiped clean.  He did not remember my Mom was gone, or his parents.  And I did not want to tell him.  At least not right away.  He always knew me and my sister, knew we were his daughters, but other than that, his mind was pretty well wiped clean of fairly recent events.  Whenever I arrived at the hospital he would ask "Where's your Mom?" and I would tell him, "Dada, come on, you know she was here all day and left a little while to go and make dinner!" and he'd say "Right, right, it's these medicines, they confuse me!"  That worked for a while, as long as he was still in the hospital.

He recovered enough that his doctor sent him to rehab, where I continued the ruse for a while.  Until one afternoon when I got a call from this absolutely wonderful nurse taking care of him at the rehab place.  She told me he was REALLY ticked off and agitated and I needed to get there right away.  So, I took off (I've always had good bosses in that way) and drove over.  When I got there, she was waiting for me and said "Preparate!"  (Get ready!)  Sure enough, there was my Dad, sitting in his wheelchair, tapping his fingers.  He said he wanted to know the truth, so I told him, "Let's go out on the patio, it's a beautiful afternoon!" We sat under a big, old, shady tree and he looked straight at me and said "Why don't I ever see my wife, your Mom, and don't tell me she just left, because I know that is a lie."  So, I held both his hands and asked him "Daddy, why do you think you never see her?"  His eyes, those eyes, oh, my.  You know how they say eyes are the windows to your soul?  Well, it's true.  I looked into his eyes and could see his heart breaking.  He said "She's gone, isn't she?  When?"  I said "Yes, two years ago."  He sighed, asked me to take him back to his room.

He asked me to tell him what we had done when she passed away.  I told him we had been surrounded by friends and family, had followed her wishes to scatter her ashes on the ocean, at a spot she loved, after a Mass in her name.  That it had been a beautiful, cool, sunny Spring morning and the sun had shone particularly bright when we scattered her ashes, almost as if welcoming her home.  Two very dear friends had been with us, along with his brother and his wife.  Afterwards we all went to breakfast at IHOP and had pancakes, just as my Mom had requested.  Then he and I went home and planted three rose bushes.  I told him all of Mom's wishes had been followed.  The sun shining so brightly, the scent of the salty water lapping at our feet, have stuck in my mind all these years.



We talked a long time that afternoon, my Dad and I.  His mind was clear, I had "my" Dad, the man that raised me, back at least for a little while.  That evening there was a full moon, we could see it from his room.  He told me "Do you remember when you were little, you used to babble away to the moon and I'd tell your Mom it worried me and she'd tell me to leave you alone, you were expressing yourself.  I really loved your mother and we both really loved you."  My parents had the kind of marriage that makes you believe in marriage.  They were always happy to see each other, we were always happy to get home at the end of the day. That afternoon and evening, although difficult, were such a gift, because he remembered, his memory was returning and, possibly, just maybe, at least for a little while, please, I had my Dad back!  He told me, let's sit outside and look at the moon, it's so beautiful.  So, I wheeled him out to the little terrace outside his room and dragged a chair outside and we sat there, holding hands, talking.  His nurse, the one that had called me came in and said "You two are quite the pair, sitting there looking at the moon!"  And it was a beautiful moon, full, glowing in the night sky.  When I left to go home, he called my cell, something he had not done since before his heart attack, and told me "Call me when you get home, so I know you got back safe.  I'll see you in the morning, I love you."  I thought maybe, just maybe, he'll be okay, he'll get through this.  I'll have him for a while longer.

The next morning I drove over to see him.  I'd go in the morning before heading to work and after work.  I wanted him to know he was cared about, thought about, loved.  He was waiting for me, I'd stop at McDonald's once or twice a week and get him a hash brown, he loved those crunchy hash browns.  He munched on his treat and said "My parents are gone too, right?"  I said, "Yes, Dada.  They are."  He gave this big sigh.  I shaved him and then headed to the office.  He came home on Valentine's Day and for a while, he rallied.  We were blessed with wonderful neighbors who took turns sitting with him, getting his lunch, keeping him company.  My aunt, my Mom's sister, would visit him a few times a week.  He had a wonderful visiting nurse, Sylvia, a Jamaican lady, who became part of our family.  Even after her visits with him expired, she continued to visit at least every other day, even on weekends, making sure he took a shower, shaving him.  Between her, my aunt and our neighbors, I felt safe leaving for work, because I knew he had people that truly cared about him with him.

Then he caught a cold,  One night, he had trouble breathing, I called 911 and we were off to the hospital again.  In the E.R. they stabilized him, he started feeling better, I went to get some coffee for my sister and me and returned to find all  hell had broken loose.  He'd had another heart attack. After a few weeks and a few close calls, he stabilized enough to be transferred to a different rehab facility, more of a hospice place.  His memory was gone, again.  Although he still knew my sister and me.  He knew my aunt.  But other than that, he really didn't remember a whole lot.  Zip, nyet, nada. My aunt and I, we did have our differences, but she was family through and through during that time.  If he asked for rice pudding (she was a master baker), she'd make him rice pudding from scratch.  It was a favorite of his.  Still, it was hard seeing him slipping away.  One afternoon I asked him "Daddy, do you remember when I was little?" and he said "No, I just know you are my daughter."  That was heartbreaking.  Even now, it still is.  One weekend, I was sitting by his bed, reading.  He was taking a nap, sleeping so peacefully.  I looked over and he was wide awake, just looking at me, so serious. He said "I must have been a good father, because you are such a good daughter."  I looked at him and smiled, told him "Daddy, that is a daughter's sacred duty.  You don't remember, but whenever I wanted some spending money and asked you, you would always say yes and tell me, that is a father's sacred duty, to take care of his child.  Well, now it is my turn to take care of you, okay?"  To this day, I feel it was an honor and a privilege to be there for him.

My cousin, his favorite nephew, died suddenly during this time. He was working in his backyard one afternoon and that night he was gone. I did not tell my Dad, did not see the point. The evening of my cousin's funeral, my father had a very restless night and I stayed with him.  In the middle of the night he sat up in his bed and looked towards the door of his room and said "My nephew, look, look at what they've done to me."  I know he was talking to my cousin, my beautiful, tall, handsome cousin who was gone much, much too soon from this life.  Early the next morning, he was, finally, sleeping peacefully, and I left to go to the funeral home.  I wanted to see my cousin one last time.  My cousin who gave the best hugs in the world, my big, tall, I can take care of everything, beautiful cousin. I took the day off and stayed with my Dad that day.

A few days later, on a Saturday I walked into his room and lo and behold, my Dad was sitting up in bed.  Not my Dad after his second heart attack, but "my" Dad, the one that had raised me.  He looked at me and said "Give me a hug!"  Oh, that was the best hug ever.  I just leaned over, put my head on his chest, I could have stayed there forever.  We had the best conversations that day, that kind of conversations we'd always had, ranging from the most inane of subjects to the deepest.  That day was a gift.  I called my sister, my Dad's uncle, his sisters that afternoon and told them, if you want to see him again, he's himself today.  The next day my sister and his uncle visited, but towards late afternoon, I could see "my" Dad slipping away, fading.  The next morning, he had faded again.  But, oh, I would not have traded that Saturday and Sunday for all the money in the world.  Thursday afternoon when I got there, he looked at me and said "My daughter, I'm so glad you're here, I've been waiting for you."  I just knew, he was ready to go.  His nurse came in and said his heart was failing, they were ready to intubate if it failed, they had the team ready to resuscitate.  I told her no.  Asked if he was in pain and she said no, his heart was just slowing down and was I sure.  I was.  I said, as long as he wasn't in pain, just let him be, let him go.  I was not about to put him through that again.  Ever.  I called my aunt and I called my sister.  My aunt was there in less than five minutes.  I called our former neighbors, who I knew loved him.  They'd had twins recently, but she left the babies and came over to be with us.  How can I ever forget that?

We stood by him, my aunt and I, each holding a hand. I sang him songs he'd sing to me every birthday.  He just went to sleep.  There was a nurse that kept coming into his room, off and on, she'd just stand at the foot of the bed, bow her head, as if praying. She kept vigil with us.  And he just went to sleep.  It was July 31st, 1997.  Right before midnight.  My sister got there about 10 minutes after he'd left.  She went home with me that night.  I followed his wishes.  Same instructions as my Mom.  No funeral service, direct cremation, a Mass and scatter his ashes where we'd scattered Mom's.  The following week, I followed his instructions to the letter.  My aunt, once more, by my side.  Along with some good and trusted friends.  We all gathered at the little chapel where we had gathered for my Mom three years before. Then we went home, where my sister was waiting for me.  She and I went by ourselves to scatter his ashes.  It started raining softly, like a gentle benediction, as we scattered his ashes.  Then we went home and ordered Chinese food, just like he'd said that last afternoon we had talked, that blessed, blessed afternoon I'd had my Dad back.  Oh, how he loved Chinese food.  Special fried rice and egg rolls.

It was easier for me to deal with his passing than it had been to deal with my Mom's.  Maybe because I had gotten used to coming home and him not being there.  But I still missed him.  A few months later, in October, I was outside all day planting impatiens as we had always done, I was in the garden all day, until dark.  Night fell, the moon came out of hiding, I looked up and realized it was a full moon.  There she was, shining in all her glory and suddenly I felt so happy, I felt my Dad right there with me.  It was like I could almost touch him, I felt him so close.  I watered the newly planted flowers, went inside for a much-needed hot shower, put on fresh pajamas, turned on the outside lights and looked out at our tiny garden. It looked so pretty, colorful, happy, a riot of pink and purple and red impatiens, ferns everywhere, the red and pink rose bushes my grandmother had planted with me and my Mom, the ones I had planted with him after my Mom.  And I looked at that beautiful moon glowing so bright.  I remembered babbling at the moon as a child, sitting in the moonlight listening to my grandfather and my Dad spinning fairy tales for me.  I remembered that moonlit night when my Dad and I sat looking at it, talking and I was thankful for my moonlight memories.

These last posts have been rather heavy, next one, I promise will be completely and utterly silly, maybe even include a recipe or two.  Cookie baking time is just around the corner, after all!  Time to deck the halls, trim the tree and light the candles.  Until next time, be kind to one another, cherish your loved ones and keep the faith!

Thanksgiving 2013

I have been on a bumpy road lately.  Events from the past rearing up their nasty little heads.  Disagreements and hurtful situations dredged up.  Some days I feel locked in a constant debate with myself.  Thankfully this debate, for the most part, is silent, although at times I do tend to verbalize and my cubicle neighbor will ask "You say something about bloomers?" because I'll be sitting at my desk and go "Suck it up.  You can't fix the past.  Put on your big girl bloomers (panties in Spanish) and deal with it!" I don't know why, it really should not have affected me the way it did, but learning of my aunt and uncle's deaths really set something off deep within me.  And it is stupid, silly, childish of me to think, to wish, somehow I could have "fixed" things.  Because, really, it was up to them.  Goodness knows, I really, really tried.  But it was up to them.  Their decision.  Their call.  The funny thing is when I read about their passings, the first though that popped into my head was "Well, Father, they are YOUR problem now!" and I am sure our Father in Heaven must have thought "Really, NOW they are my problem?  They always WERE!"  Another thought was "Well, now they are all together, I bet they have come to their senses."  Because their ... situation caused so much grief and anxiety in our family.  It was like, you know when you throw a rock into water and it creates ripples?  That was my aunt and uncle, they created discordant ripples in the fabric of our lives.  Boy, I just really mixed up my metaphors there, didn't I?  But you understand what I mean.

Sometimes people do not fully realize how much of an impact their behavior can have on those around them.  Sometimes they do and still plow ahead because they do not give a flying fig about anyone but themselves.  Me, me, me.  You hurt me.  You have more than me.  Your house is bigger than mine.  You make more money than me.  They never came right out and said it, but you know that is what they were thinking.  There were times, especially after my parents were no longer here, when I really needed to have a sense of family, of tribe, when I felt like a turtle without its shell (I still do, but have learned you have to make your own shell) and instead of just being what family is supposed to be, they somehow twisted it around and made it about them, their disagreement, their imagined or real slights.  I really wanted to smack them upside the head and tell to grow the heck up and deal with it.  But, nope, did not do so.  My aunt was the only one who was there for me, for that I will be forever grateful.  And I do wish it had been different between us, it did not have to end the way it did.  But things happen for a reason.  We each choose our path, make our decisions.

Anyway, back to Thanksgiving.  So, I have been in a phhhhhtt mood, more or less for a while now. Back to walking on eggshells.  Given to "poor, poor, pitiful me" moments.  When those happen I give myself 10 minutes, tops, to wallow, then smack myself upside the head (figuratively) and start moving, rearranging, organizing and remind myself to look for the good, for the positive and focus on all my blessings and not on what I wish I had. Really believe that moving stuff around creates positive energy, gets those vibes going!  Especially if you have music on and start bopping to the beat as you clean and putter and fluff and realize you have lots to be grateful for.  One of the ladies on The Talk, I think it was Aisha, was saying how when she was little and complained about something her father would say "Well, at least you're not in Afghanistan!"  That just cracked me up, because it is so true!  These past few weeks when I have started to veer into pity party territory I've thought about the typhoon victims in the Philippines and realized, really?  You're whining about being stuck in traffic?  Typhoon victims, hello?  Once I worked with a MAJOR Gloomy Gussie and one afternoon she was whining about how her new shoes hurt her feet, now, I've never been known for my patience and that day it was in particularly short supply, and I told her "Well, you could be living in a slum in India, then you'd be barefoot!"  That did not go over well, but, shoot she was just so darn annoying!  She was the same one who made Gina cry once, so I was not really all that fond of her.

I've said it before and I'll say it again, it is WAY easier to focus on the negative, than it is to focus on the positive.  And a lot of us whine about stuff that is about as important as a gnat's behind.  And you know how tiny THOSE are.  Sitting next to one of my co-workers yesterday at lunch, listening to her yap about how stressed she is over Thanksgiving, over the holidays, all this stress!  I finally snapped (not real long on patience these days) and told her "Do you know how lucky you are?"  She stopped mid-sentence, looking at me like I'd grown another head, and said "Lucky?  How am I lucky?"  I responded, "Well, you have your parents, your kids, your husband, everyone is healthy and everyone will be together at your house!  Do you know what a blessing that is?  If all the cooking and running around stresses you, tell them!  Look, I need you to help me with this and this and that!  Hell, go out to eat, have a barbecue, slap some sandwiches together, buy bags of chips and say we're going low key this year.  The holiday should not be a source of stress, it should be a source of joy.  It's not how much you put on the table, how big a meal you serve, what kind of china and crystal and silverware, it's who you share it with.  That's what makes it a holiday, a holy day!"  Yes, I know, I should not have ranted.  By now everyone in the lunch room was looking at me cross-eyed.

But it's true, some of the best meals I ever had were the simplest.  Once we were really, really broke, we had a loaf of white bread (Holsum!), Swiss cheese, mayonnaise and two cans of evaporated milk, coffee and sugar.  We had cafe con leche for breakfast, skipped lunch and dinner was a grilled Swiss cheese sandwich with another cafe con leche.  A few days before payday, those cans of evaporated milk were about as watered down as you could get them and still have it look, reasonably, like milk.  But, let me tell you, those were the best cafe con leches and grilled cheese sandwiches ever.  Because we shared them and we were grateful to (1) be together and (2) have that warm and toasty sandwich in our tummies.  One night I told my Dad that was the best cafe con leche he'd ever made and he said "That's because it's baptized!"  I said "What do you mean, baptized?"  He answered "That milk has had a LOT of water poured over it!"  That still makes me laugh.

I think people get so focused on the meal,  the cooking and the baking and the cleaning and the freaking out because people are coming over and the house isn't perfect!  They lose sight of how very lucky they really are.  They lose sight of the joy.  I mean, it's nice to fuss and have everything just so and make it special, goodness knows, I love doing that kind of stuff.  Pretty little place cards, beautiful china, tablecloths and REAL napkins, flowers on the table, but in the end what's really important is to have loved ones gathered around and share a meal, no matter how grand or how simple.  Time spent together. There's a photograph taken at my 15th birthday party, we had just moved from L.A. and were staying with my Dad's parents, in this tiny little house, hot as Hades, no a/c, not exactly what we were used to, but my father is looking at me and just beaming because it was my birthday and we were all together, his face says it all in that photograph.  What mattered was our family was together, something he had wanted for so long, to be reunited with his parents, his siblings.  He is just beaming little rays of happy in that picture.

Then again, some people are hell-bent on seeing the darker, stressed, joyless side of things, no matter what.  I know someone who routinely reminds me "The world is awful, people are awful and one day it's all going to end because we are all wicked!" Sometimes I just smile, others I'll go "Well, maybe, but look we're here today, we have this day, might as well enjoy it!"  You just have to pat them on the head, refuse to let their energy sap your joy and go on your merry way.  I know because I used to get stressed over the holidays, not way stressed, but enough to make me grumpy because things were not perfect like I wanted them. I once got really upset with my Dad because he whapped his head on a hanging planter, it fell off its hook and broke.  Never mind it was in his way, I'm short, he was tall, I did not take that into account when I placed it, but I was good and ticked off he'd broken the hanging planter!  Hello?  Can you say nimrod?  Instead of taking care of him, asking if he was okay, I saw the broken planter and how the terrace was not going to look "perfect!"  I didn't see the bump on his head, I did not see the roses which were blooming like mad or how pretty it all still looked anyway.  I just saw the pieces of the hanging planter!  It's a wonder he did not tell me what I could do what that planter and, by the way, get him an ice pack for the huge lump on his forehead! If you would have looked up the word nimrod, my picture would have been next to it!

Then my Mom was diagnosed and let me tell you, after that happened I didn't care how perfect or imperfect the house was, I didn't care what was on the table, or what plants were in the garden, all I cared about was spending time with her. My Dad and I made her the focus of our little world.  And it was a happy little world, as long as she was in it.  Once she was gone, well, things changed and soon after that my Dad joined her.  And I built a whole new world.  Again.  It's a wobbly one, at times, but just the same, I am thankful for it.

This year I am thankful, once again, for my friemily (friends + family = friemily), for my boss who sends me home early when bad weather threatens, who tells me to work from home when I am feeling ill or there is bad weather, for my job because it allows me to pay the rent, car, bills, even if it means working on a weekend, or part of a holiday, it's okay, because I know sooner or later, I get to come home.  I am thankful for my faith, I really cannot fathom how people get through life without faith, it must be a cold, hard road to travel.  I am thankful every morning when I wake up.  For the new day, for the hot mug of cafe con leche as I sit down on my comfy cozy sofa for morning prayer.  I am thankful for my three kittens who make me laugh with their antics, and for my Bella Bella Smokey Noella, who smacks them when they get too rambunctious and sleeps curled up on my hip, claiming me as her momma.  Sometimes she looks at the three little ones with this stern look as if saying "I was here first, you WILL obey me!" I am thankful I have my pretty, comfy, cozy cocoon to come home to at the end of the day.  For Friday nights when I pull into my parking space and know I do not have to leave for the next 48 hours. I am thankful my friend's little grandson has a good prognosis and is responding to treatment.  Thankful for my friend Kathie who
was able to go on a wonderful trip with her Mom. And for Kathie's chicken pot pie recipe, which is yummmmo to the max. I am thankful for my neighbors who keep an eye out for me and call to see if I am okay, we break bread together regularly and I am so very, very thankful for them. I am thankful for each and every member of my friemily, for my Fairy GodMothers, for all of my friends and all of my family, those that are still around and those that have gone on before me.  I am thankful for having felt the sting of false friendship because it made the love of true friends even sweeter. I am thankful it has rained a lot lately and my ferns and plumbago are really happy and lush and green.  For candles that light the dark, for roses and beautiful wreaths.  For memorial services that are a true celebration of life, where you find laughter in the midst of sorrow.

For Publix frozen pies, I have gotten hooked on them thanks to my friend Jodie (I'm also thankful for her cheesy corn muffin recipe and for her having visited me this past Spring, when her hubby came down on business, that was a lovely, lovely day), and now keep a little stock of apple, blueberry and cherry pies in my freezer. I have one peach pie (my favorite pie) left, they seem to be seasonal because I haven't seen any since September. Next year I am definitely stocking up on peach pies.


For grandfathers who spin fairy tales out of thin air that you always remember and carry in your
heart. For the little things that, somehow, are not quite as little or inconsequential as some would have you think.  I am thankful for the kindness of others, for really busy people who somehow find the time to email you, making your day even better and sometimes making a truly rotten day turn into a good one.  For friends that restore your faith in humanity and write books you carry with you because no matter how rough a day you are having, reading just a bit of them makes you feel all better.

Thankful for clean clothes, soft bed linens, scented candles, books, hot showers, art supplies, hot glue guns and for glitter!  Thankful for unexpected friendships that spring from a simple blog post.  For parents and grandparents that love unconditionally, care and look out for you, no matter what, no matter where. Whenever I feel a blue mood coming on, I miss my loved ones so very much still, sometimes a memory comes along and it is so sharp and so clear, it makes the loss raw and fresh once more, I remember Joel 2:25 and for that promise, I am thankful.

 

Father, I am thankful for my life.  It is turning out to be quite the journey.

Well, this post has been more stream of consciousness than most others.  Signing off for now, I wish everyone a healthy, happy, splendid Thanksgiving spent with loved ones, where laughter, good food, maybe some really good wine are shared.  Remember to focus on the good, on the light.  Look for your blessings, your Silver Linings, they are there, I promise you.  We are blessed, we are blessed, we are blessed.  Until next time, be blessed, be kind to one another and keep the faith!

Little Things ...

 

Having gifts (faculties, talents, qualities) that differ according to the grace given us, let us use them.—Romans 12:6

God's word for you today: You are an awesome person with tremendous gifts and abilities, and you don’t need to compare yourself to anyone else.

The above is from the inspirational emails I receive from a most wonderful e-friend.  Somehow she sends just the right quote at just the right time.  She took over when Gina went home and I am most grateful she has carried on with Gina's calling.  This particular quote resonated with me because I have been neglectful of two of my gifts for a while, writing and drawing.  They bring me joy and they had been cast aside.  Too busy with work, with doing, with toing and froing.  Oh, I have written a bit here and there, mostly posts.  I lost three little stories I'd written for the Whimbles, when my laptop had a meltdown shortly before going on vacation.  Bless my IT guy for getting it up and working again, but everything was lost.  My mistake for not backing stuff up.

Laptops that blow a fuse, traffic jams, hammers that disappear, bottles that leak, little annoying things that can set one to whining and then you realize it's no big deal.  It is fixable.  How can I whine and complain when our guys are on the other side of the world dodging IEDs and up-armoring their vehicles?  Little things.  They can make you or break you.

Glitterina the Witch

Halloween Tableau

I have been on vacation this past week.  Started out to do a bazillion things and did about ... three.  Sigh.  Really need to reboot, recharge, just be.  Today found me running around getting clothes ready for the week ahead, baking brownies (see below for recipe) for my Most Excellent IT Guy who always fixes my laptop when it has a meltdown, bless him.  I'll be taking them in tomorrow.  Have thoroughly enjoyed this week.  Had lunch and spent some time (never enough) with my Most Faboo Magical Fleaing Fairy GodMother on Halloween.  She was wearing a beautiful purple witch's hat adorned with fabulous black feathers and a veil (which seemed familiar somehow) and a beautiful and sparkly choker and, yeah, I forgot my camera, again.  She looked quite fabulous and magical.  I had to turn back twice because I forgot stuff, you'd think I would have remembered the camera at least one of those times, but nope!  Pictures will be taken (and posted) at a later date.  I'm taking a page out of Frances Schultz' blog here, she just posted photos of her (beautiful, magical) wedding last year and let me just say, should I decide to try that trip down the aisle again (which would take some serious magic, but you just never know, Mr. Right could possibly come charging into my life any day) I am using her wedding as inspiration.  Outside wedding, beautiful trees all around, amazing flowers in my favorite colors, go figure, music and laughter and everyone just seems so happy and content in those photos, like they are really enjoying themselves.  That's the kind of wedding and reception I would like.  Please.  Reading her blog and Hollye's and Connie's and the Whimbles reminds me there are wonderful, normal, joyful, creative, truly good people still in the world.  They restore my at times sorely tested faith in humanity.

But I digress.  This week has been wonderful.  Sleeping late, having cafe con leche and morning prayer on my sofa surrounded by my feline progeny, knowing I do not have to deal with traffic, what a marvelous present.  Going shopping with my neighbor and her littlest one and discovering a fabulous new (at least to me) mall where handicapped parking is plentiful, as are benches to perch on.  Panic attack threatened, but mercifully it was squelched.  It was such a treat to go to the Bath and Body Works store and pick out new yummylicious lipglosses, room sprays to spritz before leaving for work and upon my return (love coming home to a sweetly scented nest), a candle or two, can never resist those.  Little things.  We tend to take little things like that for granted. In Alexandra Stoddard's book, Living A Beautiful Life, she mentions something about how if the little things are taken care of, the big things seem to work a lot better.  That has stuck with me since I first read it.  I love that book, so much so that I bought TWO copies.  Well, my Mom bought me my first one, while we were away from home at a family wedding and went shopping.  Found this lovely little store, I had read about her in Victoria magazine, and there was her book.  My face lit up and my Mom up and bought it for me.  It is a wonderful book.  When we returned home, I bought another copy ... as a backup.  Just in case someone wanted to borrow it.  I'd lend them my second copy.  Not my first, that one was from my Momma and very, very special.  Anyway, returning to my original point, little things, some trivial, some not so much, little, everyday things we tend to take for granted at times.  Until we lose them, or skip them, or altogether forget about them and slowly our days change and are not quite so joyful and you find yourself getting a bit stressed, maybe cranky, whiny.  You know there really is no reason for it, but it just is.  Then one day you get up a bit earlier, decide to make yourself a cafe con leche, you sit on the sofa and watch the sunrise while sipping your hot cafe con leche, do morning prayer and then it hits you.  Bam!  Aha, THIS is what I've been missing.  Little things, small rituals that somehow make your day better, nicer.  Make boneheaded people tolerable.  Little things.  For which we should be (and are) grateful for.  I made it a point this week, to get back into those rituals, everyday little things that just make my day nicer, easier, happier.

My Neighbor (in borrowed hat) and Her Trick or Treaters

Glamourina

Halloween was awesome.  Lots of trick or treaters and I got to see some of my favorite neighbors dressed up, trick or treating with their kids.  I got to wear one of my witch's hats and figured out why Stephie's hat looked so familiar ... turns out we bought the same hat!  Ended up loaning it to one of my lovely neighbors who was trick or treating with her two kids, see above.  She wears it rather well, don't you think?  I love Halloween, it's fantasy and magic and I can wear my orange and black striped stockings and one of my (many) witch's hats and not get odd looks from people, ha!  One of the reasons I love my Glamourina the Witch doll so much is she is wearing an outfit I would absolutely wear if I could find it in human size.  Those socks!  That hat!  Oh, my!

Still have Halloween candy left over.  Used some of it in my batch of Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Brownies, I added chopped up walnuts and Snickers, plus chocolate chunks.  They smell awesome.  Little things.  My Leaves candle adds to the perfume of my cocoon. Finally got my hair done, sneezed my head off with the haircolor fumes, but it looks fabulous. Amazing how a bit of color can change one's face.  My Mom looked beautiful with her silvery mane.  Not me.  I look like someone's Aunt Brunhilda.

Bootiful Halloween Chalkboard



I have to change my chalkboard from Happy Halloween to Give Thanks.  This is my absolutely favorite time of year.  Halloween, Thanksgiving, the holidays peeking around the corner.  I have much to be thankful for.  And, oh my gosh, in my emails today there was one from one of my favorite people ever, Frances Schultz!  She is sending me an autographed copy of her book, Atlanta at Table, as a present!  Can you believe that?  Every time she has emailed me or replied to one of my comments on her (fabulous) blog (http://www.francesschultz.com), it just gives me the warm fuzzies.  This is someone who is ultra-busy and yet she takes the time to email me.  That just about blows me away.  Oh, my, I am rambling ... it may be the fumes from the haircolor have finally gotten to me.

Going through a drive-through the other day to get a spiced pumpkin latte, the server at the window looked vaguely familiar.  As I drove away I realized she worked at one of my former law firms, as a legal secretary.  I wanted to turn around and ask her how in heck she wound up working at the drive through window in Dunkin Donuts, it would have been terribly rude and she was not someone I dealt with a lot, she did not seem to recognize me and I would not want to embarrass her, but still I wonder what her story is.  And it made me realize, yet again, I am blessed, I am blessed, I am blessed to have a job that allows me to have my cocoon, pay my bills, have my little car, take my felines to the vet, buy candles, especially when they are on sale at 2 for $22, and deliciously tasting lipglosses.  Little things.  I rescheduled a visit with my Most Favored Goddaughter today.  She was supposed to come over with her Ireland photos, but I remembered I was supposed to visit a friend today.  So I rescheduled.  Then my friend called to reschedule.  So I wound up staying home, baking and puttering about.  My goddaughter will come over another day and we will sit and look at photos and I will bake her brownies.  Little things.

I have been on a wobbly emotional path for a few months now.  Needed this week to decompress and take stock.  Remind myself I have much to be grateful for.  Little things like true friends, holidays, scented candles, old books, vacation days, purring, spoiled feline children,  The first cold snap (which where I live means your a/c kicks off for 20 minutes), pumpkins, homemade soup and cheesy mini corn muffins, a blueberry pie in the oven scenting your entire apartment with yumminess.  Faith.  Well, that's not a little thing, but it is something I am most grateful for.

And tomorrow, back to the real world, back to traffic and rude drivers and attorneys yelling and phones ringing.  Coming home to find my flameless candles (isn't that an oxymoron?) twinkling welcoming me home, along with the outside kits and my feline progeny clamoring for their supper.  Amazing Grace scented bedtime showers and clean bedclothes to snuggle into.  Little things.  For which I am grateful.

Enough rambling and weaving about.  Until next time, keep the faith, be kind to each other and blessed, blessed, blessed be.

Brownies:  Two choices.  You can either bake them from scratch (see below) or use one of the package mixes.  When I'm feeling particularly Betty Crocker-ish, I will do the from scratch ones, I usually have the mix that includes the little pouch of Hershey's syrup in my pantry.  If I don't I just add a good one or two squishes of the syrup (ALWAYS have that in my pantry or fridge).  I do the same to the from scratch ones.  You can also use caramel syrup, just as deeelish.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees, butter your brownie pan really, really well. I have two I got from QVC some time back, that come with an insert so the brownies are already sliced. You have to let them cool really, really well or else they fall apart ... but then you can use them over ice cream, mixed in with ice cream (Rocky Road and vanilla are my two favorites to do this with), Silver Lining!

From scratch:  (Hershey's Chocolate Lover's Cookbook)
1 cup (2 sticks) butter or margarine (I'll use Parkay margarine, Fran Masters used it to make her butterball cookies and said it's just as good as butter and it is).  The butter should be room temperature, squishy-melty (yes, that IS a culinary term, at least in the Barbie kitchen), so you can mix it in easily.
2 cups sugar (regular, everyday sugar)
2 teaspoons vanilla extract (I buy really, really good vanilla extract, it's soooo good, Nielsen-Massey Vanilla Extract from Williams-Sonoma)
4 eggs
3/4 Hershey's Cocoa
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 small bag of walnuts (chopped up)
Fun Part:  Chopped up Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, Snickers (I like the original Snickers), Crunch bars, Milky Way bars, M&Ms (any and all flavors, your call), Hershey's Kisses (I like the caramel filled and original ones), Butterfingers, once I did a brownie batch adding in chopped up Peppermint Patties and peppermint canes only, it was Christmas time and I had a lot of those peppermint canes.  If it's chocolate covered anything, you chop it up and in it goes.  I eyeball the amount I put in, enough to make a chunky batter.

Get your electric mixer ready. Mix the butter, sugar, vanilla. Then add the eggs one at a time, mixing well after each one.  Add cocoa, mix well. Add flour, baking powder and salt. Mix well. Now comes the fun part. By hand, meaning don't use the electric mixer from this point on, add whatever chocolate yummies (see above) you have on hand. Add nuts. You have to really mix these in well and the batter becomes very thick, you get a good arm workout, trust me.

From mix:  Follow directions on package, it's usually one egg, 1/4 cup water, 1/4 cup vegetable oil, packet of chocolate syrup, mix well.  Add small bag of walnuts, chopped up.  See Fun Part above for other additions.

Pour into prepared brownie pan.  Bake 30 to 35 minutes, the brownies start to pull a bit away from the sides and if you stick a little wooden skewer in, it will come up clean.  If you stick the little skewer in the center, it should come out just a bit sticky, not goopy, but sticky,  Take them out of the oven and let cool.  Cut into whatever size you like, or if you have the pan with the insert, they're already sliced for you.  I cut those in half, they make the perfect bite-size or two-bite-size if you are particularly dainty, nibble.

 

I've also cut them in even smaller squares and poured chocolate ganache over them and dusted them with cocoa powder and also some with powdered sugar instead of the cocoa powder, they look very pretty on a platter.  Next time I do that, I'll take a picture.  You do go into sugar overload though, so just keep that in mind and have some other non-sweet nibbles on hand to balance the sugar out.  Here's a picture of some brownies ready to pop into the oven, that's the insert pan (nicely buttered) I talk about ... love it!  You can cut the brownies into four for bite-size nibbles.

Halloween Vacation Ramblings or Why I am NOT Reading the News This Week ...



 

Sigh!  I'm on vacation, disconnected from the world, happily hanging out, sippin' my morning java and decide to check the news, turn on the laptop and BIG MISTAKE.  So, here I am on my well-worn soapbox.  Again.  Sigh.  This was the headline that greeted me:


Obama Reportedly Unaware of World Leader Phone Tapping
 



Ya think?  He's the leader of the free world and he was unaware of the phone tapping?  What is going on with journalism lately?  I'm all for freedom of the press, but it seems like the press has been overrun by a bunch of addlepated twits who have not a flipping clue about what responsible journalism entails.  They are not even remotely interested in responsible journalism and are far too enamored of the sound of their own jibber-jabber.  Their worst offense, however, is they think the American public is stupid.  How else to explain this type of headline.  I mean, really?  The leader of the free world unaware of world leader phone tapping?  REALLY?  I don't know what I find most insulting, that they are reporting the obvious (we spy on other countries) or that our leader was unaware of it or they really believe we are feeble-brained enough to swallow this drivel! Gasp!  You mean to tell us we spy on other nations?  Nooooo!  Say it ain't soooo!  I am shocked!  Shocked I tell you!  Golly, because I know other nations would NEVER spy on us!

What's next, oh, journalistic oracles, are you going to divulge the names of our undercover agents (let's not call them spies, such a nasty, devious word!) and print them on the front page of your informative publications, so that those poor, innocent, TRUSTING countries (you know, the ones whose denizens take to the streets shouting anti-American slogans, but have noooo trouble accepting our monetary aid or expecting us to send our guys into battle to protect their sorry-cowering-behind- reinforced-walls derrieres) will know the "enemies" in their midst?  Oh, no, no, wait, I know what your next leading story will be, gasp, shock, surprise!  There are huge bodies of water known as oceans out there!  Two are called the Pacific Ocean and the Atlantic Ocean!  Or, hey too much sugar is bad for you!  Or, wait, wait, really big news ... Politicians lie through their teeth.  How can you tell when politicians are lying?  Their mouths are moving!  Or, gee, how about another scintillating expose on "celebrities" who have become famous because they made a sex tape which was somehow leaked, oopsies! How did THAT happen?  They are now worshipped and looked upon as role models (from hell, but, hey, that's just my opinion).  That one is a particular pet peeve of mine.  Especially when I hear young girls say they want to be just like them.  Really?  I told one of them recently.  You want to be known for having multiple sex partners and filming yourself?  Wow, what a goal!  Your momma is going to be soooooo proud!  As will your future children.  Puhleeze.  Setting that accomplishment bar really low there, missy!

I mean, come on!  Do you really think phone tapping is new?  Or newsworthy?  I may, or may not, be particularly fond of the current administration, but since when is keeping an eye (or an ear) on other countries' governments news?  Do you really believe our president would be unaware of such a thing?  And do you really think other (friendly and unfriendly) governments are not listening in on us?  Really?  Because if you believe any of that, then you should be writing a letter to Santa Claus asking him to please leave ALL politicians, and their toadies, nice presents under the tree this year, because they are such nice, wonderful, honest, law-abiding, family-loving people.  I can't figure out if this article is meant to, yet again, smear the Obama administration, by making him appear foolish for not knowing about the phone tapping or if it's meant to provoke sympathy, causing the public to think "Oh, dear, there they go again, picking on the President!"  Or if the news media thinks we are stupid enough to swallow any of their drivel.  Frankly, I am surprised they haven't brought the race card into it (yet).  Maybe later.  That's another one I am so blooming tired of.  If you agree with something he says, or does, then you are agreeing with him because he's black.  If you disagree with something he says, or does, then it's because he's black.  Okay, does ANYBODY remember he's also half white.  Yes, I think it's great there is (at long last) diversity in the White House, but I sure as heck hope (and I am being way idealistic and unrealistic, I recognize this) he was voted for because he was the right choice (or so the voters thought) and not because he was half anything. Or the lesser of two really, really bad choices.  Do I choose the bad tomato or the bad fish?  Hmmmm, the bad tomato will taste bad, but the bad fish could possibly kill me.  Fugu fish, anyone, anyone?  Yep, I'll go for the tomato!  I have never voted for someone because of their race, religion or ethnic background.  I have always voted for whoever I thought was the best choice.  Or the lesser of a bunch of bad choices.  If you have voted for someone based solely on their ethnicity, race, religion, social background, you, pardon my French, are an idiot.  Maybe your choice is in power, but you are still an idiot and God help them, you.  And us.

How about journalists focus on, oh, I don't know, stuff that really matters.  Like, shoot, let's pick a topic, any topic, anyone, anyone?  Okay, I'll pick.  Because it's my blog.  Let's go with how the recent government shut-down hurt people.  You know, those poor, slogging-away-for-minimum-wage people, or the ones who went without possibly life-extending or life-saving treatment (and are still going without it) because the duck-butts (oh, I do love that expression!) in charge of our government (and I am talking about BOTH parties here, no favoritism) were arguing like petulant six-year olds on the playground.  Let's see who blinks first.  I hope all of you got dry-eyes and now have sandpaper eyelids that itch and scratch whenever you close your eyes.  Let's focus on how a little boy dying of cancer (inoperable brain tumor) wants to deliver teddy bears and laughter to other sick children, let's see him reported on day in and day out.  Instead of crazy like a fox celebrities who prance naked onstage and call it art.  That's my brand, it's my art!  Really, flashing your boobies and other private parts to the world is art?  Hmmm, it must be, since the public laps it up like sour milk at a yogurt festival.  Ugh, bad, bad analogy.  I've stopped watching entertainment shows because they went from being mildly entertaining fluff to truly nauseating.  Honestly, if I saw one more feature on someone's tongue or spitting or butt/boobie flashing I was going to go Rambo.  Or another feature on someone being arrested for drunk driving because, oh, my, they are overwhelmed by the fame.  Well, if you are overwhelmed and feel like getting drunk off your butt, go home, shut the door and get snockered in private.  Don't be out there driving, snockered to the gills, putting innocents in danger ... oh, wait, I forgot, if you do it privately, you don't get your picture in the rags!  I mean, come one, now, you feed off them, they feed off you.  It's a win-win!  Then, FLASH BULB!  It hit me, I can hit the "Off" button .on the remote and problem solved!  Voila!  Why is it society is so captivated by other people's privates?  Could it be because they have a huge, gaping hole in their lives and are desperately trying to fill it?  Only they fill it with trash and it can never, ever fill your soul. Dang, I bobbled and weaved.  Oopsies!

Back to my rant.  Let's focus on veterans who after serving their country are now living under bridges, homeless and unwanted, because their brains are turned to mush and their government, you know, the bureaucrats that turned them into soldiers, basically turned its back on them the minute they served their time.  Politicians and bureaucrats, those red-tape producing buffoons, should be ashamed of themselves.  Oh, darn.  Forgot, in order to feel shame you need to have a soul.  And morals.  Silly me.  Soul, morals, there's no place for them in politics.  What was I thinking?  Yes, these service men and women, they signed up knowing they were heading into danger, but they went and then when they returned, what?  The red tape to get benefits is massive and a lot of them end up homeless, drug-addicted, violent, without focus.  That's the thanks you get for serving your country?  There should not be a need for the Wounded Warrior Project.  There should not be a need for vets asking for donations on the streets and, yes, I am perfectly aware a lot of those are con artists but not all of them.  Just as I am perfectly aware a lot of people on welfare are "working" the system.  A lot of them are not.  Let's not lump people into one miscellaneous blob of miscreants.  The families of our service men and women should not be worrying about putting food on the table while their loved ones are away, possibly getting blown up, or once they are back.  Parents of sick kids should not be worrying about how they are going to pay massive medical bills, provided they are able to find a place which will treat their uninsured, or under insured, children.   Sick people should not be dying due to lack of funds for treatment.  The first question a sick person hears should not be "Insurance card?"  It should be "How can we help you?"

And, yeah, maybe the President was not aware of phone tapping, maybe he was.  Maybe he gave the order, maybe he didn't.  But this type of reporting is just b.s.  Phone tapping, really.  Who cares?  Everyone spies on everyone else.  Forewarned is forearmed, in some cases.  Let's stop this "wagging the dog" style of journalism and focus on issues that really matter.  Sure, you can still print fluff stories about (questionably) famous people who spit, swill, snort, change partners like I change purses and name their babies as if they were farm produce or directions on a compass.  Those poor kids are going to go through hell in school.  Not only will other kids find articles about their parents butt-naked online, but can you imagine the name calling?  Please let's see some real meat and potatoes reporting for a change.

Who was it that said "Speak softly and carry a big stick" ... I believe it was President (Teddy) Roosevelt.  Do you really believe we are respected because we are "nice?"  Uhhh, I don't think so!  We are respected because we are strong.  We just have to ensure that strength does not make us bullies.  But let's get one thing straight, if we are perceived as weak, we are lost. Society preys upon the weak.  We have not yet evolved so much as a race, and by race I mean the human race, that we respect the peaceful, we are still at the point where in order to ensure (relative) peace, we have to arm ourselves for war.  We need to be perceived as not afraid to whack people upside the head with that big stick, fight dirty if we have to, if it entails protecting our own.

We are fighting on oh, so many, many fronts.  Spiritual, moral, religious, family, political.  Let's redirect our attention away from people's private parts and lives.  Let's focus more on issues that really matter, issues whose outcome will affect us as a people, as a society, a world, a planet.  We need to  hold our elected officials accountable, across the board.  I believe in freedom of the press, however, journalists have to acknowledge and work with the fact that with freedom comes great responsibility.  I believe in separation of church and state, let's just make sure freedom (and respect) of religion is part of our society.  I will respect your choice to not believe, you will respect my choice to believe.  You have as much right to cover your head as I have to wear a cross. I choose to celebrate Halloween (candy, candy, candy!) and you will respect and refrain from telling me I will burn in hell for doing so.  Because you really don't know that, do you?  If you have a direct line to the Father, I want to see a signed affidavit saying so. Oh, and since we are on the Father issue, you will also respect the fact I believe Mary is our Heavenly Mother, just as I respect your beliefs or lack thereof.  It's a mutual thing, this respect business.  It's not an exclusion-driven one.

In an article about Hurricane Sandy, a fertility clinic, embryos and babies, in the comments section, one reader said wouldn't it be great if, somehow, there could be a way to save aborted fetuses and give them to people who want babies and are unable to have them.  I thought, wow, way to turn a horrific situation into a Silver Lining.  Instead of death, life.  Instead of destruction, love.  Now, mind you, I am pro choice, it's your body, your choice, your burden to bear.  Whatever your choice may be.  I keep thinking of that young boy who went to church and asked to please, please, be adopted.  Someone said it would have been better if his mother had aborted him.  I thought, no, that child has a purpose, he had to be born.  His plea is a testament to the human spirit.  He had the courage to get up there, in front of the congregation and say I am here, I am here. I will not be broken. Can you imagine the courage that took? There is so much sadness in the world, so many children waiting for a home, a family, a tribe.  Someone I know, good marriage, had three little boys, stay-at-home mom, stable financial situation, got pregnant a fourth time and decided to abort the baby.  It was a mutual decision by both, her and her husband. He had a business trip scheduled and she asked me if I would go with her and I did.  Somehow I thought she would change her mind, but no.  After that day our friendship changed.  I distanced myself from them.  Even though you try, you can't help but be judgmental.  As someone who always wanted to grow up, get married and have babies, I could not wrap my head around her choosing to get rid of her child.  I totally judged her and her husband.  Eventually they moved out of state, we exchanged holiday cards, but really did not keep in touch otherwise.  A few years ago they moved back, coincidentally near my apartment.  I saw them recently in church and we got to talking.  Her boys are all grown up now, two in college, one is graduating from high school next year.  They are a beautiful family.  She asked me if I remembered that day and I said yes, I did and I apologized for having distanced myself.  She smiled and said she loves her boys, her husband, but she has always wondered about that fourth child, if it would have been a girl, what would she have been like.  Choices have a tendency to come back and haunt us.

If you become an American citizen, please do so because you really believe in that oath you will be taking, in that flag, that beautiful, beautiful red, white and blue you will be swearing allegiance to.  When I became a citizen I had to swear I would be willing to bear arms against my birth country.  It was something I struggled with (as did my father which is why it took way longer for him to become a citizen), until I realized if it came to that, it would be because this country, the one that took me and mine in, was under attack and yes, absolutely, I would bear arms against whoever would attack it. I know I come across as Flag-Waving Frannie when I stick up for the U.S., but I lost one country already, I'm not about to lose this one or keep my mouth shut when I perceive it is being smeared, disrespected, attacked.

At work recently I overheard co-workers talking about a funeral Mass where both the American and Cuban national anthems were played and how emotional everyone got.  Totally understand.  Every single time I hear either one of them, emotion is overwhelming and the tears flow.  As anyone who has ever seen me cry can attest to, I do a MAJOR ugly cry. Having sunglasses on helps, but they do not hide the bright red Rudolph the Reindeer nose, blotchy face and swollen lips. Oh, how I wish I had inherited the "glycerin in the eyes" cry, where the eyes grow luminous and glisten, lips tremble prettily.  But nooooo.  I do the Ugly Cry.  Why do I cry?  Well, when I hear one anthem it reminds me of a world that was and will never be again. A world full of joyous laughter and loving family, rhythmic music which sent my parents dancing down the hallway of our house at the beach, days scented with fine tobacco, starched linen, lemony cologne, roses and jasmine blooming, and a dash of "lechoncito asado."  The other anthem reminds me of a world that is, where the flag still flies free, beautiful and proud, of baseball games, hot dogs and Abbott and Costello doing "Who's on First?"  A world which is constantly under attack, but manages to come through shining, head held high. each and every time, a world which must be protected at all costs because although far from perfect, it is the home of millions, and the hope of oh, so many.

Okay, I have vented, raged, spouted.  I'm going to ignore the news this week.  And I think I'll name my next pet Croissant or maybe Peach Pie.

Until next time, be safe, be blessed, keep the faith and pay it forward ... you never know, it may be an angel you are giving that dollar to.

Hebrews 13:2 - Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: For thereby some have entertained angels unawares.  King James Bible "Authorized Version," Cambridge Edition.

A Thankful, Rainy Wednesday ...

My friend Connie regularly does a Thankful Thursdays post on her blog, Rx for the Soul.  I don't have to tell you I am thankful for those posts every Thursday.  Actually, I am thankful for her blog ... and her friendship.  Today I am taking a page out of her book, so to speak, and doing a Thankful Wednesday post.  Or maybe I should call it Winding Down Wednesday, because for the first time in what feels like, well, months, I feel truly relaxed.  Don't know particularly why, I just do.  These past two months, more or less, have seen me majorly (yes, I know, I made that word up, sue me) wound up.  I have been easily ticked off, fed up, seeing the unpleasant side of humanity and, Lord, that is ever SO easy to find these days.  I was pretty well ticked off when I wrote my last post.  Things wonky at work, the world, politicians making asses idiots, darn, can't come up with the right word without sounding rude, but you get the picture, out of themselves.  The news are horrific no matter where you turn.  For the past few months I have felt like I'm treading deep, deep, jellyfish swarming, shark-infested waters, holding my breath until I park my little car at home on Friday and know I do not have to leave my cocoon until Monday morning.  It is only at home that I breathe peace.  Those blessed, all too few, hours when I am home during the week are something I cherish and guard jealously.  I get home, give thanks to the Father for getting me to, through and back home from, work safely.  I light my candle, get into my comfies and breathe peace.  If only for a few short hours.  And Friday night, well, Friday night is just extra-blessed.  Just knowing when I wake up I can do whatever I please. Garden, write, watch a movie, play with my four feline children.  I stretch, get up, make my café con leche and give thanks, as I do every morning.  But weekend mornings are just extra-special.  No agenda, no calendar, just peace, blessed, blessed, joyful peace.

Still and all, I have not been quite centered for a while.  Today started off like every day, get up, feed the kits, shower, café con leche, morning prayer and off to work.  My boss has not been feeling well, but went in today and it was good to see her.  Weather this morning was Fall-like (for my neck of the woods, anyway), but it turned really stormy early in the afternoon.  I was just finishing up reviewing some documents when my boss, who was on her way home, called me and said "Go home, now.  The weather is terrible and it's going to get worse."  I looked outside and it was pouring.  I grabbed some stuff I could review at home and left.  Got drenched in the two steps to my car, but I was on my way home.  Poured almost the entire time, hard rain, it felt like hail at times.  Thankfully traffic, although quite heavy, moved along and there were no accidents (a miracle, truly).  One hour and 50 minutes later I was parking my car.  It stopped raining about 10 minutes away from home and I thought, well, that's enough of that storm!  But about five minutes after I got home, right after I fed the outdoor cats (who seemed rather surprised to see me) the Heavens opened and it has been pouring ever since.

To say I have been tightly wound for a while is to put it mildly.  Yet, today, a few hours ago, when I got home and started to review some work, all of a sudden I felt this peace come over me. When I got home, I lit my "Pumpkin Carving" candle (it's October, pumpkin season!), changed into my "comfies" and turned on my laptop to connect to my firm.  In the middle of reviewing my work, I suddenly felt myself unwind, relax, let go.  I thought, how very, very blessed am I.  It is pouring and I am home, safe and snug as a bug in a rug.  There's a well-stocked pantry and fridge in my cocoon, new posts from two of my very favorite blogs (Frances Schultz' and Hollye Jacobs')  to read once I finished work, kettle happily whistling on the stove, I'm working from home because my lovely boss sent me home early due to bad weather, seriously, how many bosses DO that???  Here I am, home.  With my kits, lovely candle scenting the air, along with a peach pie bubbling in the oven.  I am home.  I am blessed, I am blessed, I am blessed.  And thankful.  Sometimes I get so focused on what is wrong with the world, with society, that I don't see the forest for the trees.  I stop seeing the blessings and see only the inane, the ridiculous, the sheer stupidity that seems to dominate the news these days.  Dweezils being carried around or prancing around naked and calling it "art."  That's not "art" that's a pathetic call for attention, which of course the news media rushes to cover as if it were the cure for cancer.  Art is Picasso, Botticelli, Rembrandt, Redoute's roses (particular favorites of mine), Dali, Cassat (another particular favorite), Gaudí, Monet, THAT's art!  Prancing around naked, no, no, sweetums, that's being a ho and you're not doing it in the name of "art." You are doing it for the "shock" value (by the way, just my humble opinion, but society as a whole should be WAY over seeing people's privates by now, I mean, really?) and because you know it will get and keep you in the news, which you, come on now, be honest, you crave AND for some reason I cannot quite fathom, makes you money!  Hmmm, haven't been in the news for a day or two, let me flash my boobies!  Or worse.  Please, don't tell me that those "oopsies, flashed my privates" moments are real oopsies, nuh, I don't buy that for a second.  What in heck ever happened to underwear???  But, again, I digress.

My ranting at the inanity of the world is not going to fix it.  Sure, it lets off some steam, but it really accomplishes zip, nyet, nada.  It takes the focus off what is really important, health, waking up to another day, faith, joy, laughter, having a job (and a decent boss who sends you home early in inclement weather, calls when you are out sick to see how you are feeling and has your back), a solid circle of friends. It took watching the documentary about Valerie Harper the other night, a news report last night on a street being named in honor of a little girl who passed away from cancer, and finding a little note handwritten by my Mom which says "You are never too old to learn how to live" to make me come to my senses.  I've been in a phhhhtt mood and it has accomplished zip, I am not living, I am wasting precious, precious time and I am not appreciating the gift that Life is.  I am thankful not only because I realized this, yet again, but also because the Father did not, yet again, reach down from Heaven and smack me upside the head.  I am fairly certain he has wanted to do this a time or two (or a dozen) these past few months.  The other day I was rushing off to work and realized I had not done my morning prayer.  For about a nano-second I thought, ah, well, I can do it tomorrow and something just stopped me.  It was like someone telling me "If you don't have five minutes to sit down and talk with your Father, you are in DEEP bat guano, missy!"  So, time was made, lip gloss can wait, morning prayer was said.  Honestly, for the past few days, it's like I have been getting these little messages to wake the heck up and smell the coffee, the roses and the scented candles.  I think I was THISCLOSE to a major smack and narrowly avoided it. Today I was looking at pictures of my godfather online and thinking all that time wasted feuding with his sister and for what?  I believe it was my Guardian Angel yanking, gently, on my ear, letting me know that in my own way I was doing the same darn thing.  I do love my Guardian Angel.

Which brings me to this post.  Today is the Feast of the Holy Guardian Angels, according to a Catholic website I get emails from.  I believe in angels.  I have believed in them all my life.  One of my first memories is of my Mom cutting silohuettes of angels out of beautiful gold and red foil (it was almost Christmas Eve and she was decorating our dining room walls), they were playing trumpets and harps and she told me when we were asleep they would play beautiful music to give us sweet dreams.  I loved that idea.  A picture similar to this one was in my bedroom as a child, I loved the angel looking out for the children.  I believe in Guardian Angels and I know for a fact mine works overtime ... a LOT (and am willing to bet some of the time is heard to mutter "Why, why, why?").  Maybe it was my Guardian Angel finally getting through to me today, telling me to relax, all is well, we are loved.  Our Father is in charge, it is not my job to rant and rail at what I perceive as idiocy and foolishness.  It is my job to follow His rules, to do unto others, to do what is right, even though at times it makes me feel like a walking, talking anachronism.  Ah, my Guardian Angel is most wise and patient.  And for that I am most thankful.

Until next time, be safe, keep the faith and be kind to each other!

I Am Tired ...



Today is Saturday, blessed, blessed Saturday.  One of the two days in the week when there is no agenda, no schedule, no plan.  Just time at home.  To garden, putter, draw, watch stuff I've DVR'd during the week, just hang out.  Woke up early, got some orange juice and sat down on my comfy, cozy sofa to say morning prayers.  This ritual centers my day.

 

Checking out the week's news, I found some reports that have me firmly convinced we, as a society, are going to hell in a handbasket.  It seems that in our ever-increasing quest to become famous (if only for a fleeting 15 minutes) people will do almost anything.  For example, there is the news report about some imbecilic teens who posted a video of themselves putting a kitten in a microwave.  Which begs the question ... where in HELL did they get this idea?  Why would anyone do such a thing?  What is it with the abuse of the defenseless?  Someone suggested the perpetrators may have been, in turn, abused and you know what?  Could be true, but I am tired of that being an excuse for inflicting hurt.  Done with it.  My sympathy is tapped out.  I have not one ounce of empathy, sympathy, caring for them.  I don't care if they were beaten black and blue, hung from a tree limb by their toe nails.  I just don't care.  If you are able to tell right from wrong and you choose wrong, you should be held accountable. I don't care what you went through in your childhood.  I don't care if you went head-first through a window.  I just don't care.  If you want to inflict hurt that much, then you should inflict it on yourself, do the world a favor and just blow yourself out of this world.  You do not deserve to live.  If you hurt, maim, kill, rape, torture, you should just be obliterated from existence.  Sometimes I wish I could sit down with these people (and I use that term loosely) and talk with them, to see if we can figure out exactly at what point did they break.  Because all of us at some point in our lives were happy, innocent, trusting, little souls.  And, yes, I totally get it could be one cataclysmic event or a succession of small, yet still horrific, events that just led to that breaking point.  Believe me, been there.  Like a friend of mine says "I've been to the dark side."  It ain't pretty.  Truth be told, it is MUCH easier to choose to stay there, than it is to claw one's way back to sanity and life and Light.

There was a recent case in the "city" I live in and I use that word loosely because, really, I don't think it is a city anymore, it has become a gathering place for miscreants who perpetrate their acts and then use their horrible childhoods, their race, their ethnicity, as an excuse to skate free and clear, but I digress.  There was a case in this ... city where an elderly man was shot by a juvenile in what is being called an "attempted robbery."  This kid just rode up to this man who was getting into his car after grocery shopping, rode up on his bike, apparently tried to rob him, then shot him point blank killing him and then he ran away ... on a bike. Obviously, he knew he'd done something wrong, it's not like he stuck around waiting for the police to arrive, like one would do in an accident.  So, he's not stupid.   I don't think that kid wanted to just rob the man he killed.  I think it was a gang initiation.  Yesterday they announced the kid had been arrested.  Has a rap sheet a mile long.  They don't know whether they should charge him as a juvenile or as an adult.  Oddly enough his parents, or at least his mother, was in court.  So, where was she when her kid was out robbing people?  Why is it that the parents of juvenile delinquents suddenly show up in court yammering about how good their child is?  Going on about how that child is "the light" of their life.  Good child.  Goes to church on Sundays.  Would NEVER do anything against the law! This is patently unfair!  My child is INNOCENT.  Really?  With a rap sheet a mile long?  Where are they when that "good child" is holding people up, robbing, beating someone? This "child's" attorney is saying his client is being railroaded, he had a head injury a while back, his childhood was terrible. Big whoop.  I just don't care.  Don't give a flying fig.

I say, you take a life unless it was in self-defense, you should pay with yours.  Bottom line.  I am tired of people, whatever their age might be, using their sucky childhoods as an excuse to be a criminal.  I don't care.  If you're able to tell right from wrong and choose to do wrong, you should be held accountable.  He took a life, he destroyed a family.  He has to pay.  Life in prison?  No.  Death sentence, absolutely.  We have to send a message that if you do the crime, you will pay.  Today there are just way too many delinquents who have learned how to "work" the system.  Way too many saying they are being arrested because of their race, ethnicity, whatever.  I don't care if you are white, red, black, purple or polka-dotted, if you're born and bred in the USA, from another country, from another flipping planet, if you commit a crime you should be held accountable.  Regardless.

Same goes for the stand your ground law.  If you come into my house, I don't care if you are armed with a play gun or a butter knife.  I am going to shoot you.  Not going to shoot you in the knee, not going to shoot you in the arm.  I am going to shoot to kill.  Because you have no right, no business being in my home, threatening me.  Now, a defense attorney would say "Well, how were you threatened?  Did this person lunge at you?  Verbally threaten you?  Come at you with a life-threatening weapon?"  Me:  "Well, this person broke into my home, I'd call that pretty threatening, so yeah, I shot him."  Attorney:  "Well, my client had a very violent childhood.  My client does not know any better."  Me:  "Really?  Then, may I ask why your client chose my home, instead of my neighbor's, who is 6'3" and a linebacker, home?"  Attorney:  "My client does not know right from wrong!"  Me:  "Okay, (turning to speak to perpetrator) would you shoot yourself, please?" Perpetrator, sorry, Alleged Perpetrator:  "Hell, no, @#$$%!  I'm not doing that!"  Me:  "Why?"  Alleged Perpetrator:  "It $%^&*!@ hurts!  I could die!"  Me:  "Ah, so it would be wrong to shoot yourself?"  Alleged Perpetrator:  "@!#$@#$! Yeah, it'd be #$$@! wrong!"  Me:  "Fry him."    Rough childhood?  Too bad, get in line.  There's plenty of people who have had horrific childhoods and gone on to have productive, contributing lives.  Who have chosen to make sure others do not go through what they went through. Those are the people worth talking about.  Those are the real  heroes.

Same goes for politicians who prey on the elderly, on the vulnerable, who use loopholes to rig elections.  Who, when on the campaign trail go on and on ad nauseam about family values, the sanctity of marriage, truth, justice, apple pie and the American way.  Then they get caught with their pants down, wonking an aide, or soliciting sex in a public bathroom, or sending pictures of their privates to some skank who they met through the internet or making money from some skeezy, barely legal, scheme.  And here comes the public apology, the beating on their chest, the "I'm only human" speech.  Really?  Mind you, I'm just as human as the next person, but at least I do not run  for public office on a platform of "family values" while I'm having an extra-marital fling or sending pictures of my privates to people ... side bar:  WHY, can someone just tell me, WHY do people do this?  And a LOT of these people are PARENTS!  Do they even think their kid, or kids, will one day read about this?  That would be an interesting dinner-time conversation.  "So, Dad, tell me, do you ever hear from Ms. Vinyl Pants?" or "So, Mom, ever hear from your 8th grade student that you ... uhhhh ... tutored?" Puhleeze.

The public is steered towards focusing on the inane while the really important issues get pushed to the back of the line.  We march and yammer against same-sex marriage while children are beaten to death by the very people that gave them life.  We focus on taking "God" out of the pledge of allegiance because it "offends" some people, while on the other side of the world our men and women have to up-armor their vehicles from other vehicles that have been destroyed, harmed by IEDs or in attacks.  We petition for no large sodas, while people are going hungry right next door.  Where in hell have our priorities gone where we worry about sodas making us fat, but don't care about people going hungry, going without medical care because they just cannot afford it?  While people are sleeping under bridges?  While thousands of innocent animals are euthanized every single year because irresponsible owners do not get their pets fixed, then dump them when they cease to be amusing?  But, hey, super-size sodas are no longer being sold!  Big win for the human race!  Why is a fund-raising drive necessary for a kid to get life-saving surgery while people are sunning themselves on million-dollar yachts?  What is wrong with you people that you turn a blind eye to the suffering in the world?  I have always wondered how on God's green earth people could work in concentration camps and then go home to their families at the end of the day.  How could they march families into gas ovens and then sit down with their children at dinner.  How is that possible?  How can people hold up signs saying "God hates (pick your theme here)" and claim to be Christian?  Because, at least the way I think, God and hate do NOT go together.  As a matter of fact I think it is a testament to God's love for us that we, as a race, still exist.  Because if it had been me, I'd have pulled the plug on the human race a long time ago.  Why are white supremacy groups proliferating?  True, there's an overwhelming abundance of crime, but putting on really ugly boots, shaving one's head and claiming to be superior because of one's skin color (or lack thereof) is not going to solve the problem.  I have one friend who was getting chummy with one of these groups and I told him "You realize, the minute they find out you're part Cuban, you are out of their little club, right?"  But no, he said they were "quite nice" actually ... until they heard his last name and ooopsies!  All of a sudden, he was not their friend,  Frank (name has been changed to spare him at least some embarrassment), he was a dirty spic.  And while we are on the subject, could someone tell me how that term originated?  I never heard it until we moved here from L.A. and someone called me that my first day of school here.  I thought they were talking about the detergent Spic and Span and calling me dirty, so I slugged them.  And, yes, my parents got a call from the office.  It wasn't their last.

It is time to be held accountable.  From the very tippy top of our thoroughly-corrupted on BOTH sides of the fence political system.  Responsibility for one's actions has gone out the window.  It is never one's fault, it's always someone else's or the result of something that happened in one's life.  Bull.  Yes, life can blow, childhood can be horrific, but as a society we need to be held accountable.  Goodness knows, I can be one of the most irreverent, religion-challenging people ever, but you know what?  I grew up saying the pledge of allegiance, saying "one nation under God ...." and it did not bother me one bit.  I know what I believe in, I know what I hold dear.  And nothing, no words, no laws, no whatever can challenge my beliefs, my faith.  Those who feel threatened by the word "God" must be very, very insecure within themselves to want the word taken out.

We need to, as they very vulgarly say these days, grow a pair, own it, admit it. Until that happens, we are just standing on really, really shaky ground.

Well, I have weebled and wobbled, vented and raged, time to go garden a bit.  Until next time, be safe, be blessed and for Pete's sake, be kind to each other.