Just as a puppy can be more of a challenge than a gift,
so too can the holidays.

~ John Clayton


I'm sorry to hear that Pres. Bush 41 is having such a difficult time. He's a good man. We are suffering here with what is apparently the same viral syndrome. We've taken to calling it Presidential flu. It has been going around, and we started our first bout at Thanksgiving time. We've done the cough, the nausea, the fever, the aches and the weakness. Then we did it again - and we are on our third round. Just deciding that we are better isn't enough. Mind over matter. Just suck it up doesn't work with this one. We're currently hoping that antibiotics do work!

Due to the persistence of Prezflu, Christmas and Hanukkah were cancelled here. I began to think about wrapping presents. And making shortbread. Sending out Christmas cards. Getting the tree up. How 'bout the lights on the porch? Need to marinate the turkey.

I decided to sit down and think about it some more until it was a reasonable time to take a nap. We finally decided that we didn't want grandchildren to get sick. Stan's mother at the nursing home was already sick - and NO ONE would be allowed a Christmas visit with her. And I was pretty sure I couldn't even LIFT the turkey.

We'll try again in January.
We have lots of birthdays then, too.
Makes a lot more sense.

So - Ho, Ho, Ho, y'all.
~T, 12-27-2012

Now I lay me down …

I don't come from gun people.
No one in the family ever hunted.
We were lake folk and fished.

I went to high school with hunters.
I also went to school with chess players.
Both were equally foreign to me.

I've always been grateful to police -
And military for their willingness to protect.
But I'm really squeamish about guns.

I'm not anti-gun or second amendment.
It just never had any relevance for me.
One way or the other. I don't know what to do.
But somebody needs to do something.

[And yes - I'm still somebody -
But - I really don't know what to do.]

~T, 12-16-2012

O Holy Night …

This is a great time of year. For me, Christmas is a religious celebration. I look forward to the spirituality and anticipate the joy. It happens in my heart and in my church. Knowing that it will always be the same, brings "comfort and joy."

Independent of my personal feelings for Christmas, a couple of other things happen in that same timeframe. It's almost the same as fourth of July. The family gathers, the love flows, it's the "hap -hap - happiest time of the year."

The tree goes up with a lot of handed-down, handmade ornaments and the familiar angel on top. Some came from earlier family trees that Stan and I remember from our family homes as children. A few were wedding presents! Then we bought some early in our marriage for much smaller apartment-size trees.

In the early '70's, toddlers looked with wide eyes on the lights, the sparkles and the shine. They learned that the celebration involving the tree is a commemoration of the baby Jesus birth. As they grew, the separated the story of Jesus from the tree. Both were important in different ways.

The tree became an instrument of family history. "Remember the elves!" "Remember when we made the strawberries!!" "Wow, we still have the cookie angel." "Wait!! It's Jean's job to put the angel on top." "Why does SHE get to do it??" "Because she always has!"

The tree is central. Everyone helps to decorate when the clan gathers. Each year we reflect on who is missing. We trash talk those who just didn't come home - for whatever reason. We miss those are are gone. While trimming, we always eat the same cookies [Grama Bette's anise angels - now made by Jean, Roberta Sachs shortbread and Grama Terry's peppermint meringues] - though we added peanut butter buttons when Dan joined the family.

When he was little, I loved watching Julian's eyes widen as he viewed the assortment. Then there was Gabe's excitement starting with the lights. And then Sam who marveled at absolutely anything, taking great pride in the handmade ornaments that he and Gabe added. Don't they look awesome, Grampa!

It's about family and memories. And as I said, knowing that it matters and will always be the same, brings "comfort and joy."

More Than Fifty Shades of Gray ~

I love the enigma that is winter in Central New York: the drama, the mystery. Each day dawns and there is always the question, “What's the weather like today?” Sometimes it's - “What's happening outside?”

It's always cold. Sometimes there is snow - especially if you live along the Tug Hill Plateau. Often there is wind, making the wind chill factor of interest.

But the real question is always, “What shade of gray?”

Each day a paradox. For example, today the sky is lighter than Cinder Block. I would call it dingy laundry gray. That Tunisian Taupe - that beige/gray that you get when washing clothes in water that isn't quite clean [frequently seen in third world countries].

So, the excitement builds. What color might tomorrow bring?

~T, 12-1-2012

Just one of those days … [Repost]

In 8th grade, some of us were assigned to home rooms in the high school because there was not enoughroom for all of us at Parkway School. Some envied us – the access to older guys, being able to make friends with some of the older girls, an opportunity to learn about “important things.” I was terrified. My father was a teacher at the high school. He was strict and imposing. Lots of people were afraid of him. I wasn't afraid of him, but I wasn't eager to have him aware of everything I did all day every day either.

I tried to blend in and basically get lost in the traffic, sit in the back and keep quiet. Then Miss Hanicker happened to me. [Not just me, of course. It just seemed that way.] I was sitting in the back row in Miss Hanicker's math class. She called on me to solve the problem written on the front blackboard. Unfortunately, I couldn't see clearly enough to read the board. Miss Hanicker moved me to the front row for the rest of the class, and then sent me to see Mrs. Brady, the school nurse.

Mrs. Brady checked my eyes using the big Ǝ E eye chart. Then she called my father! He clearly did not understand the situation. He asked, “Are you doing this to get attention??” Was he kidding? [He was not!] I was trying to be invisible and I had been singled out on the very first day of 8th grade! In front of the entire class! And then they called my father!! What else could go wrong? Clearly, I did not fully grasp the situation yet either!! I had not yet realized the potential outcome! So my father conferred with Mrs. Brady and then called my mother, who called Dr. Farrell for an appointment for my eye exam.

After school, I got on the city bus and went to Dr. Farrell's office on Genesee Street. Dr. Farrell was so nice, and tried to break the news gently but there was no easy way to say it. I would have to wear GLASSES. GLASSES, for heavens sake!!! “But I can't wear GLASSES,” I said. “I already have BRACES!” That was one of the worst days of all my time at the high school. But the next day, I picked up my new glasses anyway.


We all have “worst days.” I'm grateful that I didn't have that many, and that mine were usually behind me before I had too much time to reflect on them.

Phantasy Phat …

For most people, the umbilicus [belly button] is the site of attachment to their mother in utero. After birth, it has no function but is often embellished with jewelry or tattoo.

For me, it is where the capricious Loki-like transplant trickster spirit attaches the valve and hose each night to pump me up. The goal is to "twin" the Michelin man, I think.

I DO take a lot of pills, and most of them list weight gain as a side effect. I never expected that it mean IMMEDIATE weight gain. If I take my morning meds with a cup of black coffee and then get on the scale - I have gained three pounds. That's not transitory weight, just temporary. Oh, no. No yo-yo-ing here. That's PERMANENT weight gain. Oh, yeah!

For those who understand, no explanation is needed.. For those who do not understand, no explanation is possible.

Roads …

Roads

Most people are lucky. Their heads are like a country road – one lane at a time. Oh, sometimes they are slowed a bit by an Amish wagon or the cows crossing to the barn at milking time, but generally they can move along at a comfortable pace.

Some people's heads are more like Main Street. Ideas coming and going; detours to pick up the dry cleaning; hurrying to pick up the kids – at the orthodontist, from piano lessons and then on to soccer practice.

I take Prograf. My head is more like the Cross Bronx Espressway. Some of us laughed yesterday about our lists. My head is constantly making lists to try to bring order: need from the store, errands for this morning, stuff to mail out, calls to make, what to get for Christmas, places to go, things to do, how to achieve world peace. Don't forget Sam's birthday. It's Tuesday – lab day and FREE coffee!

Stuff I need from the drugstore, stuff I want to get from iTunes, projects in process, stuff from Michaels, clean the garage, stuff to throw away, stuff to keep, stuff to fix.

This is why I need a nap. But my head still works overtime. This time, the Cross-Bronx is crowded with Zombies.

A day on the bus …

One day in 1975, my Mom was riding the NYMills bus home from downtown. She had a driver's license but never drove. She saw no need. Driving made her nervous, so she always rode the bus. She knew all the drivers and all the regulars.


So on this ordinary day, she rose to get off at her corner and found herself sitting in the center aisle. Now that was not ordinary. Gil stopped the bus at the corner and looked at her wondering what she was doing? “You okay, Bette?” he asked. She looked shaken and a bit confused, but she assured him that she was fine. Too much heat, sun, medication making her dizzy.


Gil wasn't convinced. He turned off the engine and helped Mom off the bus. He walked her slowly down the street [with her protesting all the way] and got her to the yellow house with the red flowers in front. In the kitchen, he made her a cup of tea and sat with her for a few more minutes, just to be sure. She seemed fine now. She said she was fine.


Gil returned to the bus still waiting at the corner. No one complained or grumbled about the delay. A couple of people had gotten off and walked, but most just waited patiently to find out if Bette was okay. Gil assured them that she seemed fine. She said she was fine. But she always insisted she was just fine. That was the way Bette was.


Turns out Mom was indeed fine. This was one of her many experiences with embarrassing episodes in public places [eepps!!]. Wait until I tell you about her fainting in the bank's revolving door!!


I'm telling you this story today because I've been thinking more about Mom lately, for some reason. But I also need reassurance that things like this still happen today. There are people like Gil out there. And people who wait like the people on the bus – because sometimes - something or somebody else is just more important at that point in time.

~T, 11-14-2012