A note to those who are dreading Christmas.
I hope you can come to the place where you can leave the expectations of Christmas where they belong - in a hot air balloon piloted by a fat fairy tale. I fought with it for years. As long as I can remember Christmas (until recently) it has been a huge opportunity for disappointment. I'm fortunate to be able to "just say no" to the whole thing. This year I'll cook something outrageously yummy for the staff food fest because I enjoy that.
I'll try to ignore the extravagance and waste. I'll overlook the clutter and the crowds and enjoy the first two days music without thinking too much about the lyrics.
I'll say "Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukha, Have a rocking Kwanza, a peaceful Solstice, please, thank you, and pardon me."
I hope we can all celebrate a nice day or ignore it, whatever pleases us, and let the expectations of marketers and stale traditions roll off us like rain off a happy duck.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Sunday, November 29, 2009
George
George was a twin and his mother ewe only wanted to feed the other one. So from the first day of his life, George thought of me as MaaaaaMaaaaa. It was early spring in Virginia when he was born and he was just a bit more than a handful in a couple of ways. He lived in a box in the laundry room at first and I mixed formula and heated bottles every four hours. He was always hungry and he grew fast.
It wasn't long before he came tumbling down the two stairs from the laundry into the kitchen having escaped his box. He was a little wobbly on his spindly legs, but that didn't slow him down much. If he heard me in the kitchen or the living room he soon was there. By then he was the same size as Alice, our mostly white cat. The dogs and cats must have known that George was going to keep growing and they accepted him into the pack.
I spent a lot of time, trying to get George to eat grass, but once he caught on he made up for lost time. He wanted nothing to do with the sheep and they didn't much care for him, either. He started sleeping on the deck in a dog bed when it warmed because he wasn't much good at house training. During the day, though, the door to the deck was usually open for the dogs, cats, and George to come in and out at will. When the door was closed, George would "paw" at it until he was let in.
Every day when my mate came home from work we'd take a walk down the road and back through the pasture. The dogs, George and Alice the cat knew the route and the schedule. One spring we had too many roosters and we gave one to our neighbors. When the group of us walked to their house, me carrying a rooster under my arm, I suddenly realized what an odd picture we must have been.
When the weather was nice, we'd return from our walk and have happy hour on the deck. George was especially fond of pretzels, carrots, and peanuts and he enjoyed a beer as well. My mate was from Down Under and recognized beer as a good way for George to put on weight. Every happy hour, George sat on my lap on the deck.
It wasn't long before my mate had to lift George onto my lap. Sheep grow quickly and George went from a kitten-like pound of woolly sweetness to 100+ pounds of stinky ram that only a mother could love. No matter how big he got, he still wanted to sit on my lap. And he still called me MaaaaaaaMaaaaaa. He just said it louder. And he never forgot my voice.
By autumn he still preferred the living room to the lawn and it was long past time that he started learning how to be a sheep. Daily my mate would remind me that George had excellent genes and he had to learn how to pass them on. It was painful for me to take him to the pasture, and nearly unbearable for me to watch the way those nasty sheep treated him at first.
But George grew confident. In fact, he grew downright cocky. I reckon he wooed the young ewes with fantastic stories of salty pretzels and foamy beer. He became quite the lady's man. Well, actually the ewe's ram.
During my time on the farm, I bottle fed lots of lambs. I remember trying to hold bottles for triplets who would climb all over me as I sat in soft green grass under perfect blue skies. It's a wondrous experience to pacify a tiny lamb with your finger while you get the bottles arranged.
But even among the sweetest lambs George was special. You just can't keep a full grown ram as a house pet. It's not good for the ram or the house. So George was part of my family for a season. But what a season! I miss that sheep and I can truly say that the brevity of the time I was his Maaaaaa doesn't diminish the sweetness of the experience.
It wasn't long before he came tumbling down the two stairs from the laundry into the kitchen having escaped his box. He was a little wobbly on his spindly legs, but that didn't slow him down much. If he heard me in the kitchen or the living room he soon was there. By then he was the same size as Alice, our mostly white cat. The dogs and cats must have known that George was going to keep growing and they accepted him into the pack.
I spent a lot of time, trying to get George to eat grass, but once he caught on he made up for lost time. He wanted nothing to do with the sheep and they didn't much care for him, either. He started sleeping on the deck in a dog bed when it warmed because he wasn't much good at house training. During the day, though, the door to the deck was usually open for the dogs, cats, and George to come in and out at will. When the door was closed, George would "paw" at it until he was let in.
Every day when my mate came home from work we'd take a walk down the road and back through the pasture. The dogs, George and Alice the cat knew the route and the schedule. One spring we had too many roosters and we gave one to our neighbors. When the group of us walked to their house, me carrying a rooster under my arm, I suddenly realized what an odd picture we must have been.
When the weather was nice, we'd return from our walk and have happy hour on the deck. George was especially fond of pretzels, carrots, and peanuts and he enjoyed a beer as well. My mate was from Down Under and recognized beer as a good way for George to put on weight. Every happy hour, George sat on my lap on the deck.
It wasn't long before my mate had to lift George onto my lap. Sheep grow quickly and George went from a kitten-like pound of woolly sweetness to 100+ pounds of stinky ram that only a mother could love. No matter how big he got, he still wanted to sit on my lap. And he still called me MaaaaaaaMaaaaaa. He just said it louder. And he never forgot my voice.
By autumn he still preferred the living room to the lawn and it was long past time that he started learning how to be a sheep. Daily my mate would remind me that George had excellent genes and he had to learn how to pass them on. It was painful for me to take him to the pasture, and nearly unbearable for me to watch the way those nasty sheep treated him at first.
But George grew confident. In fact, he grew downright cocky. I reckon he wooed the young ewes with fantastic stories of salty pretzels and foamy beer. He became quite the lady's man. Well, actually the ewe's ram.
During my time on the farm, I bottle fed lots of lambs. I remember trying to hold bottles for triplets who would climb all over me as I sat in soft green grass under perfect blue skies. It's a wondrous experience to pacify a tiny lamb with your finger while you get the bottles arranged.
But even among the sweetest lambs George was special. You just can't keep a full grown ram as a house pet. It's not good for the ram or the house. So George was part of my family for a season. But what a season! I miss that sheep and I can truly say that the brevity of the time I was his Maaaaaa doesn't diminish the sweetness of the experience.
Perfect Moments
Do you ever catch yourself in a moment that you know you'll remember all your life?
Whenever I think about singular moments and what makes them special, I remember one in particular. I must have been about six years old, and I was allowed to walk to the post office with a neighbor girl, Barbara. She was older, probably nine. We walked the two blocks to the post office and then sat on the steps in front, soaking up the sun and feeling absolutely wonderful.
I said, "I'm going to always remember this moment," and so far I have.
We didn't go the remaining block to the "Square." We didn't have any money to buy anything anyway. We weren't showing off new shoes, we very probably didn't have shoes on. It was summer after all. It wasn't anyone's birthday or anything. We just walked to the post office and posted a letter for her mother.
It was a perfect time.
Whenever I think about singular moments and what makes them special, I remember one in particular. I must have been about six years old, and I was allowed to walk to the post office with a neighbor girl, Barbara. She was older, probably nine. We walked the two blocks to the post office and then sat on the steps in front, soaking up the sun and feeling absolutely wonderful.
I said, "I'm going to always remember this moment," and so far I have.
We didn't go the remaining block to the "Square." We didn't have any money to buy anything anyway. We weren't showing off new shoes, we very probably didn't have shoes on. It was summer after all. It wasn't anyone's birthday or anything. We just walked to the post office and posted a letter for her mother.
It was a perfect time.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Don't think, just do it.
I dreamed I was building a structure with a group of people. There was urgency to get it done on time. The structure was transparent framework going up and up. At the base was a sort of trampoline-like floor only when a person bounced on it the reaction was in slow motion. We tested it out often.
My job was to teach people how to jump. All you had to do to go all the way up was believe you could. Little children had no trouble. We would bounce and each go up through very, very fragile layers. The layers were like the incredibly thin ice that first forms on a pond. When I would break through one I'd barely feel it, but it would shatter and fall to the ground. Evidently it grew back for the next person, the next time.
To go all the way up was to escape something, and there was a feeling that we all needed to do it soon. I would jump and tell myself, "Don't think about it, just do it!"
I hadn't tried to go all the way up yet, because I was trying to teach other people, and I was fighting with the doubt that I knew could keep me down.
I had this dreams some years ago and have remembered it often. It has meant different things at different times, but the theme remains.
My job was to teach people how to jump. All you had to do to go all the way up was believe you could. Little children had no trouble. We would bounce and each go up through very, very fragile layers. The layers were like the incredibly thin ice that first forms on a pond. When I would break through one I'd barely feel it, but it would shatter and fall to the ground. Evidently it grew back for the next person, the next time.
To go all the way up was to escape something, and there was a feeling that we all needed to do it soon. I would jump and tell myself, "Don't think about it, just do it!"
I hadn't tried to go all the way up yet, because I was trying to teach other people, and I was fighting with the doubt that I knew could keep me down.
I had this dreams some years ago and have remembered it often. It has meant different things at different times, but the theme remains.
Saturday, November 21, 2009
What Did You Say?
I love words. I love the way they rearrange and group together to change things. I love to arrange and rearrange them myself and I am a word-watcher. I notice and appreciate the way word-skilled people carve with them.
Words build and destroy; encourage and devastate; control and free. You can do a lot with words. I hope I am never without them. Words are my friends and like all exciting friends, they've bailed me out many times and they've landed me in trouble more times than I can count.
I'm intrigued with the way people who supposedly speak the same language can have a conversation and be totally in the dark, too.
When I first moved to Northern Wisconsin from Central Illinois, I had to learn a new dialect. "Come by me once, eh," meant "Please come here." Who knew?
When I moved to Appalachia I learned again. "I kindly just cut iverthang off," meant "I conserve electricity."
Friends from Australia were amazed when we asked them if they "shagged." Ooops. We meant danced.
And Brits! Well, one hardly knows where to begin. They don't know a torch from a flashlight, a chip from a fry, or fancy from like. And while the Aussies are often crude, the Brits think it's rude to come out and say what they mean. It's amazing that we aren't at war with them.
Where I grew up the word you could mean one person or several people. Up North multiple people were addressed as yous. In Appalachia it's you'ns. In the South it's ya'll. And using the wrong word can cause you to sound snooty, stupid, alien or any combination of those.
All this mumbo-jumbo, gobbledeegook, and falldarall just to make a point. Words are important. We must choose them with care. When we don't make sure that a word or phrase means the same thing to you as it does to someone else, we risk a great deal. We could ask someone to dance and end up in a most embarrassing situation.
Words build and destroy; encourage and devastate; control and free. You can do a lot with words. I hope I am never without them. Words are my friends and like all exciting friends, they've bailed me out many times and they've landed me in trouble more times than I can count.
I'm intrigued with the way people who supposedly speak the same language can have a conversation and be totally in the dark, too.
When I first moved to Northern Wisconsin from Central Illinois, I had to learn a new dialect. "Come by me once, eh," meant "Please come here." Who knew?
When I moved to Appalachia I learned again. "I kindly just cut iverthang off," meant "I conserve electricity."
Friends from Australia were amazed when we asked them if they "shagged." Ooops. We meant danced.
And Brits! Well, one hardly knows where to begin. They don't know a torch from a flashlight, a chip from a fry, or fancy from like. And while the Aussies are often crude, the Brits think it's rude to come out and say what they mean. It's amazing that we aren't at war with them.
Where I grew up the word you could mean one person or several people. Up North multiple people were addressed as yous. In Appalachia it's you'ns. In the South it's ya'll. And using the wrong word can cause you to sound snooty, stupid, alien or any combination of those.
All this mumbo-jumbo, gobbledeegook, and falldarall just to make a point. Words are important. We must choose them with care. When we don't make sure that a word or phrase means the same thing to you as it does to someone else, we risk a great deal. We could ask someone to dance and end up in a most embarrassing situation.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Zeke
(I just remembered this. It comes with a smouldering blues tune)
Zeke
A puff of smoke
A gentle breeze,
Can't hold them in my hand
Sparking stars
On summer seas
The writing in the sand
If I could make this world anew
I would include them all
And I'd include our brief affair
The ride was worth the fall.
Zeke
A puff of smoke
A gentle breeze,
Can't hold them in my hand
Sparking stars
On summer seas
The writing in the sand
If I could make this world anew
I would include them all
And I'd include our brief affair
The ride was worth the fall.
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