Almost New Year's...

(Okay--couldn't resist another Audrey picture..even tho she has nothing to do with this post.)

The holidays are all but done, and 2009 is nipping at our heels, in much the same way as Jake nips at mine when I'm late with his meals, his snacks, his treats, or whatever cat-business he thinks I should be about--and am not. 

Unfortunately I find that the new year has the same disregard for my agendas as Jake does. Forget that I'd like to (finally) get back to my novel, begun almost four years ago. There are Christmas trappings to be packed away and returned to the storage space. Forget that I resolved LAST year to submit some of my work to magazines; I have a new computer to break in and a printer to set up. Forget that I had such a good start last fall on exercising; I have a trip to Baltimore each week now to check in with my mom. 

As a favorite poet of mine (John Ciardi) once said, "Where is the flaw in us that lets in the trivial?" He may not have meant it in quite the same way, but it is so easy to let the trivial take over, and figure that the rest will all happen somehow, someday. My brief  sojourn as a Franklin/ Covey facilitator had the answer to that one: in class after class, I spouted the wisdom that "someday" is not on the calendar, and that the only way to make something happen is to plan for it, to divide it up into manageable pieces and schedule those pieces into your day. 

Easy for me to say; much harder to practice. (Sorry to any of you who were in any of my workshops...) I'm very good at buying planners, and I am right there, realizing how important it is to write things down (particularly now, when my memory has a distinct resemblance to a piece of well-holed Swiss cheese) -- but actually walking the walk after I've talked the talk? That's another thing altogether.

But 2009 is just around the corner, and now is the time for good intentions. Since I'm apparently following the road to hell anyway, I may as well add some paving along the way. Okay. First step, a planner. Second, a gift to myself of the time I need to update said planner each week. Third, a resolution to write for an hour every morning. Fourth, another hour each week to submit and keep track of submissions to publications. Fifth, a half-hour each day for exercise, repugnant as that is to me. I owe it to myself, and to young Audrey and the rest of my family, to enable me to stick around long enough for them all to REALLY get tired of my weak-willed ways. Sixth, (and runner-up in the 'repugnant' category) Weight Watchers meetings every week and adherence to their healthy eating mantra, no matter how much I hate vegetables.

That's it. The likelihood of my sticking to all of these is slim--but there's a new administration in town. If Obama can take on the mess we have here in Washington, I guess I might hope to make some change in my own little fiefdom, population one. 

Happy New Year, one and all, and best of luck on your own improvement programs!

A Christmas Perspective

Last year, I’d been in New York overnight with my friend Jan from San Diego—and a cold front had swept in with snow and ice. Upon our return to Alexandria, we'd minced our way in total darkness down my alley—which could have doubled for Rockefeller Center in the amount of ice-covered surface it represented. Cold and tired, we reached the house unscathed. I turned to Jan: “THIS is why we bought the place in San Diego,” I said. She laughed, and not long after, we made our way upstairs, and blessedly, to sleep.

The next morning, I woke early and came downstairs. Before we’d left, I had made a mental note to bring in my two schefflera plants that had so enjoyed their summer outdoors. Like most of my mental notes lately, this one had gotten lost in my filing system, and I fearfully stepped outside to see if they’d weathered the storm. Limp and green-black with frostbite, they languished in their baskets, beyond hope of saving. My mood was as gray as yesterday’s sky had been.

Jan came down soon after and was bubbling over with excitement.
“It looks just like a Christmas card!” she said.
“What?” I replied, my head full of what’s-for-breakfast and what-time-do-we-have-to-be-where.
“Your patio: it’s like a Christmas card with the holly and the snow on the bushes,”

Now, I had just been out there, and I hadn’t seen any Christmas-card-pretty scene. All I had noticed were dead scheffleras and the treacherous ice on the flagstones and the puddle of dirty water left by my shoes as I came in the door. Just as, in New York, while Jan and two other California friends were catching snowflakes on their tongues, I was calculating the probability of train delays and the effect of slush on my shoes.

Sadly, I have the same mindset again this year. I think I need a little Christmas. As Mame says…”right this very minute.” I need to escape from the practicality and gloom-ridden everyday thoughts and worries and pointless concerns that we all fall victim to. I need to change my focus to what I have, from what I have not; from what is, to what could be; from what is wrong, to what is right in my world. It’s so easy to forget blessings, to collect grudges and to hunker down, Scrooge-like, and count them off, one by one, happy in our own misery and that we can give to those around us.

It’s Christmas!! And it is time to be a child again—to see the world as a beautiful place, full of wonder and mystery. It’s time to do things we’ve dreamed of doing—like skating at Rockefeller Center, if only for a few minutes; like walking across the Brooklyn Bridge in gale force winds just to see the view; like strolling past wondrously-decorated department store windows and gawking in awe at Brobdignagian snowflakes suspended over Fifth Avenue and trees so festooned in lights that they glow behind your eyelids as you walk away. It’s time to walk down the street and smile at people, to read our childhood Christmas books, and even watch some holiday movie classics. It is time for hot chocolate with marshmallows and Christmas cookies and eggnog, despite carbs and cholesterol. It’s time to see the Christmas card in our everyday, and to inscribe it with a heartfelt “Happy Holidays!”

It is Christmas once again, and it’s time—past time—for friends and family and lights and singing and larger-than-life living. Christians see this time as one of hope and faith, but I believe it extends beyond the doors of our churches. Christmas is a time to believe in each other again, to find that child inside, to rediscover what we were and what we dreamed of being and to once again--with a gift, a kind word, an understanding ear-- light a hopeful candle in someone’s eyes…. maybe even our own.

Merry Christmas.

Guilty!

Note to self: you know you talk too much when the proprietor of a shop you visit maybe once every couple months a] recognizes you and says "You Facebooked us!" and then b] follows up with "And how's young Audrey?"

(In my own defense, I will say that the young woman--Amy-- has a 3 month-old of her own, AND that this was the shop where I rifled through her entire stock of knitted alphabet blocks to find all the letters of Audrey's name...but still....)

I actually got to meet her little boy, James, and--I know this will surprise all of you--he seems to be as happy a baby as Audrey is: kicks and grins and squirms and generally indicates how happy he is to make your acquaintance. Perhaps we can get them together. Amy (his mom) says he likes older women. :)

White Rabbit

"I'm late! I'm late! For a very important date! No time to say "hello", "goodbye"--I'm late! I'm late, I'm late, I'm late!"

The White Rabbit, in one or another incarnation of Alice in Wonderland

The date I am late for is Christmas--and it's barely two weeks away. At no time in my life have I ever been this far behind, and I really have no excuse: no job, no little children, no obligations, no big party to throw..the days just slipped by, and here I am, with nary a present bought, no tree (that comes Friday), cards not written (or even more than a draft Christmas letter), no stamps purchased, or cookies baked.....what happened??? Did I just miss all the cues?

So. For the next two weeks, any non-booked time is hereby dedicated to Christmas shopping, to re-tracing my steps to pick up all those possible gifts I've seen, but didn't buy; to seeking out some clever ideas for those difficult people on my list, to (probably) resorting to giftcards where necessary...

Heigh-ho.

Happy birthday: not a wish--a reality.

I turned 60 this weekend, and one of the best things about growing older is that I can do it with a wonderful complement of friends and family. I was reminded this weekend of how much they all mean to me, of all they have done to make my life as complete and happy as it has been thus far.

There are thousands of quotes about friendship, but surely the oldest is still the best (Remember that when you talk to THIS old lady...) "...faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love."

Amen.

Those Christmas dishes...

Okay. I found them, stacked on a shelf in a closet for easy access. My Christmas plates and mugs have replaced my ordinary everyday ironstone, and the holiday season is now officially in session.

I don't know what it is about having Christmas dishes. It is (possibly) a wasteful enterprise. After all, why have a complete set of dinnerware that is used for only a month or so out of the year? What's the point?

It started for me with the innocuous purchase many years ago of a couple red cups and saucers. They would go with my white dishes well enough, and would add a note of holiday color to the table, I thought. Later, when I saw a couple salad plates in the same bright red, I added them. I could use them in February for Valentine's Day, too. But then, I found my snowman plates. They were white (like my everyday dishes), with blue rims (like my china!) and had red accents (I could use my red pieces with them, too!) The snowman theme made them appropriate from December through February, thus quelling my qualms of guilt. As if God blessed the purchase, that Christmas, my sister (all unknowing) gave me a set of mugs in the same snowman pattern.

However, even though I am a dish freak (let me tell you someday about my green cups with the square saucers) there's more at work here. Opening a cabinet and seeing my holiday dishes lifts my spirits. Every table setting says "Merry Christmas" and every routine cup of tea reminds me that there's something special about today. Usually that 'something special' is a to-do list of seasonal chores, but...nevertheless, there's a joy in that, too. Putting out my dishes, putting out my Christmas decorations is putting out my memories. I'm decorating my life again with all the trips, all the Christmases, all the happiness of all our years as a family. Every piece of red or green or holly-trimmed bric-a-brac has a story, and all those stories add up to today. And today, like all our Christmases, like all our yesterdays, is worth remembering.