things to be happy about: a Yuletide addendum

76. having seven vehicles parked in the drive and on the lawn
77. not being the only heart beating under your roof at night
78. having your granddaughter ask to borrow your clothes
79. having more mouths to feed than settings of silverware or china
80. spending all day in the kitchen and not even minding
81. spending days cleaning the house in preparation for utter chaos (and is it ever!)
82. losing everything except your mind!
83. relearning that Goo-Gone gets butter and bacon splatters out of the clothes you knew you shouldn't have worn to cook in

84. walking the dam with your granddaughter on a wintry afternoon
85. simple gifts--your daughter's PhotoStory video of shared summer memories or your no wrapping paper needed goody boxes or your mother's four pineapple upsidedown cakes--bringing simple pleasures to all

Christmas 2009 Facebook album--click and enjoy

elves

Jack taking notes for Santa (Michael and Cassie have been pretty good today :-)




Kira and Pixie preparing breakfast



Ryder riding high on Garrett's new bunk bed

are u ready for Santa???

I guess not many of us would choose to take a cool and cloudy Christmas Eve walk across a dam . . . One of the zillion and one white-headed old guys who walk that dam, thinking, I've always assumed, that this will make a meaningful difference in their lives, stopped in front of me today.

The conversation (if you can call it a conversation) went like this:
He: Are you ready for Santa?
Me: Yes, are you?
He: Christmas is a day just like any other . . .

I didn't miss a step . . . kept right on walking . . .

Don't mess with Christmas, not with me!

The "Yes, Virginia" letter speaks to and from my soul, as it always has.

Santa is the worldly embodiment of unconditional love, of hope beyond reason--and of these offerings of self being returned in kind.

Christmas is synonymous with "believe".

Christmas is the time of year I can be myself and not seem a fool.

For those who are unable to recognize or embrace unconditional love, who feel compelled to question hope beyond reason--for those who are slow to belive what they cannot know or see . . . this is my wish. May each of your days be Christmas Day. . .

goody boxes . . . or simple pleasures reprise

When we were struggling to provide our young family with the basics, my mother would often gift us with "goody boxes"--school supplies, candy, the simple frills of everyday life. They meant a lot, those gifts of hers . . .





This Christmas, in an effort (in vain, but an effort nonetheless) to return to the simpler Christmases of yore, I announced that I would be giving family members "goody boxes" this year in lieu of big ticket items. And I am . . .




I especially have enjoyed finding just the right box, or bag--most with uses beyond the temporary holding of a gift--for each recipient. No wrapping paper or bows or even tags needed . . . just the occasional sheet of tissue to shield contents from inquisitive young eyes or to pad empty spaces, buffer fragile items . . . The contents? Not all that different from other years except that thinking in terms of many just right simple items rather than one impressive one was more like the Christmas in my memory--my childhood, those of my children . . .




goody boxes . . . I'm smiling . . .

once upon a time . . . or not?

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly

All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see

All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free
Blackbird fly, blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night

Blackbird fly, blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly

All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
You were only waiting for this moment to arise

geocaching reprise

Several years ago I posted a picture of five grandbabies proudly displaying the cache they had discovered on a poison-ivy-carpeted island in the middle of a lake. Today--another summer, another lake, another state away from that moment in time--the two youngest of the now seven (and therefore "closest to the ground" :-)--were the finders of the "treasure."

Our first geocache--under a weeping hemlock tree in Fritz's garden on a community college campus--eluded us. Too many muggles perhaps?




But even the little ones were not deterred by this setback. On to the next treasure hunt. Of course, while we ladies, young and old, were making a necessary stop at the dam welcome center, the gentlemen, young and old, were in pursuit of the treasure. Just as we closed in on them we heard the cry go up. Michael, age 5, had found his first ever geocache!



Our last geocaching stop for today was at a waterfall. Unfortunately for us--or so it seemed--the treasure hidden here would also be an elusive one. Ropes, signs, and a determined lady ranger barred our way . . . or so we thought. Cassie, not quite three and therefore closest of us all to the ground, wandered away as we strained to see under the shrubs just beyond the rope barrier . . . and happened her way, much to her surprise and momentary embarassment, into the cache's new location.






A lovely way to while away a summer morning . . . making memories to keep :-)

old glass and new blossoms

to be happy about :-)

of healing . . .

It's been 40 years since I lost my father to cancer . . . six years since my child embarked on a cancer survivor's journey . . . I've bought and displayed the showy purple ribbon, donated to cancer research, worn the t-shirt, decorated a luminary or two. What I could never bring myself to do, until this year, was to join, with others like me, others whose lives have been changed by that "C' word, to remember and to honor those who have fought the good fight for living and dying well . . .

I did not purchase or decorate a luminary this year. But, for the first time (forgive me, Daddy), I chose to celebrate my survivor child by joining a Relay for Life Team. The experience was a healing one in many ways--rediscovering old friends whose lives had also been touched in this way, walking and walking and walking and walking some more, sending prayers up to heaven on purple balloon ribbons . . . But, most of all, in the quiet dark of night, reflecting in the flickering candlelight presence of those gone before us and those still with us . . .

Elysium . . .

From first memory, I have been enchanted by the bittersweet love story of Orpheus and Eurydice. The twists and turns of Orpheus' journey to the Underworld in search of his lost-to-this-life love--finding her at last only to lose her once again--have blurred over the years . . . I have often wondered where, in this story of love lost, found, and lost again, Gluck's haunting "Minuet and Dance of the Blessed Spirits" belonged.

Today I went in search of that answer: Elysium. When Orpheus is at last granted passage into the Underworld, he is taken to Elysium, where the blessed spirits of the good and the heroic spend their eternity. It is there, as he searches for Eurydice, who must eventually be found and brought to him, that a solo flute speaks of love and pain, hope and loss, joy and grief . . .

I was reminded of the importance of faith--unconditional faith, trust, hope, love--in rereading their story. If they had only believed--each in the other's love, in their collective ability to survive the test of separation, of parallel journeys--they would have once again been together this side of Elysium . . .

If only . . .

The Age of Innocence

I'm wondering why I listed this under favorite books in my profile when it must have been the movie I remembered . . .

I have a copy of the book, somewhere, and have just ordered the movie DVD--but, without my Kindle and the scattered free hours of this last week, I doubt I would have (re)read this American classic beginning to end.

All I had remembered was the end--his walking away from her--not the why. How could he walk away from what might yet be, choosing instead a solitary retreat to his imagined world of what might have been?

I have lived on the fringes of that age of innocence, imagined worlds, known people who don't want to know, and more.

Too much the risk-taker to live comfortably in the age of innocence, I suppose . . .

Footnote: The movie was no more comfortable than the book. I have removed both from my list of favorites . . .

Simple Pleasures: a story

Every blog has a story. This is the story of how Simple Pleasures came to be and still is . . .

Three years ago, I might not have been able to tell you what a blog is. I’d heard of them, I know, because, when Jamie suggested I create a blog, I had some idea of what he meant.

Christie was on call that Saturday morning in June 2006, Cassie arrival was several weeks in our future, and I was spending quality time with Jamie, who was probably in the middle of one of his forever home improvement projects, and with Michael, who was two. Whatever the catalyst, our talk drifted from how to keep our out-of-state relatives current with photos of children who seem to grow up overnight to why didn’t I create a blog and post pictures there. Jamie helped me set up a blog on what was then blogger.com.

The first two photos—Michael on the slide (his not-yet-arrived sister was to master the “big” slide first, before she was two) and Michael in the box (they were both “box children” two Fridays ago)—were Jamie’s, not mine. The first photo of Michael with Cassie—their first meeting a month late—wasn’t mine either. I’m the hand keeping him from tumbling off the hospital bed :-) But I’ve taken and posted and sometimes blogged about more than my share of family photos since.

The blog’s name came with its repurposing the next February. I was enrolled in a writing class—required training for my work—where the assignment was to create a multigenre memoir. At the time, I also took several days’ leave to stay with my mother who was recovering from back surgery. On daffodil-cheered and contrail-inspired neighborhood walks in the small southern town where I grew up, I tugged on memories and, one day, remembered my dormant blog. And decided I would write my memories of simple pleasures there . . .

Simple Pleasures soon assumed a life all its own. I've used the blog, when teaching graduate courses in writing and in technology, as an example of how we may meld both in order to capture, to pass on to others what matters most in our lives. I've used it to process, as writers do, my innermost self. I've used it to hold time fast, to make sense of the world around me. I've used it to play with language, to prove to myself that others’ faith in my writing gift has some merit. And always, because I know that to be a writer I must be able to face and to tell the truth, I write who and where I am at each published moment in time.

The blog came full circle last week when I/we used it to craft the stories that would be compiled into Kimberly’s First 20 Years scrapbook. At some point a couple of years ago, we decided to make Simple Pleasures a family venture. Somehow Jamie, whose brainchild this blog was in its beginning, has yet to find, and accept, his emailed invitations to join us on the contributors’ list. But the door is forever open.

Simple Pleasures has spin-offs—one a spoof of sorts on my ongoing love affair with technology and the other (only one entry anyone but me is allowed to read . . . yet) is my thinking about why I am not a writer.

Many read but few comment, at least not here. I’ve been told that some of you don’t know what to say in response to my entries. Oooooh, does that mean I may be a writer after all?

Come back often. Read. Enjoy. And, if so moved, let me know your thinking about my thinking . . .

OK, so maybe not a glamour shot exactly but . . .

this girl is so pleased she challenged herself to enter this event and that she followed through :-)

Not toooooo bad for an "after" photo anyway . . .

Next challenge? Relay for Life!

more party pics :-)

Kimberly's Fabulous Forty . . .

. . . and what a surprise it was :-) The memory I will treasure most is her sister and brother rearranging their too full lives to fly up with me yesterday morning to share this milestone moment in their big sister's life. And we have today together--just the four of us--while Kelsey, Garrett and Kira are in school . . .

More later, but here are some of the zillion pics we took to capture yesterday's celebration for posterity.

Jamie's tribute to Kimberly :-)

Subject:
Re: Kimberly's tribute
Date:
4/18/2009 10:36:54 P.M. Eastern Daylight Time
Mommy,

I logged in and looked everywhere to see where to post an entry to the blog. I see Christie is a contributor, but I do not appear in the list. I may just be too tired to figure it out. Anyway, here is the bat story, too late to include but told for posterity:

We moved to Jessamine Road when Kimberly was 8, Michelle 6, and I was 2. It was a three bedroom house, so of course Kimberly as the oldest got her own room and I shared a room with Michelle. We all lived there for 10 years (16 actually :-), so I lived there longer than I have lived anywhere, and I have fond memories of my time growing up there playing/fighting/bothering my sisters.

I have three stories from that time that for some reason really stuck with me:

1. Initially, whenever our parents went out by themselves we had a babysitter stay with us (no grandparents just minutes away). Eventually however, Kimberly was deemed old enough and responsible enough to allow her to stay home with Michelle and I without a babysitter. It was during this time that I remember coming home from school and being forced to watch General Hospital instead of cartoons because Kimberly and Michelle were bigger and stronger than I was. However, we were not supposed to watch TV at all without an adult in the house, so invariably Daddy would come home, feel the TV, and pronounce that we had broken the rules because the TV (a big picture tube) was still hot! I think Kimberly and Michelle probably shared the corners on opposite sides of the front door in the foyer for that one--I had already been punished by being forced to watch that silly stuff to begin with!

2. As siblings, we all fought each other from time to time. However, one day in particular I remember Kimberly and Michelle were fighting in Michelle's room really badly and I was upset and wanted them to stop so they would not hurt each other. I had the fabulous idea of throwing a snow globe at them to make them stop. I succeeded in taking a chunk out of the back of Michelle's head (I think it was her) and did in fact stop the fight. I know it was wrong, but I never remember them fighting like that again!

3. Finally, at some point in time I grew to the point that sharing a room with Michelle did not make a lot of sense. So Kimberly moved into a MFROG (Mostly Finished Room Over Garage). She had a white four poster bed, a linoleum floor, and lots of closets under the eaves of the house. However, since she was upstairs, one wall of her room was next to the attic door and the attic fan. Unfortunately for her, at one point bats managed to work their way into our attic through a whole in a screen in an attic vent. This led to the following inevitable story. One night we were all sleeping soundly when Kimberly woke up screaming. We all ran to her room and were informed that there was a bat flying around in her room that had woken her up. We (well not me--bats are scary for kids) went upstairs and looked all over for the bat, which was nowhere to be found. After checking everywhere and making sure the attic was closed up tight, we all headed back to bed. Kimberly went to get into bed and screamed again, as the bat flew out from under her covers where it had been stuck after she had flung her covers back to run out of her room the first time. I was still at the bottom of the stairs and probably screamed myself as the bat proceeded to swoop down the stairs toward me. Needless to say, it was difficult for all of us to go to sleep again that night!

Ultimately, I looked up to both of my sisters and saw them both aspire to do great things. This encouraged me to try things myself and not give up just because things were not easy. I now know that this aspiration is a key ingredient that separates leaders from followers, and as a manager of a team of people, I know how important it is to always try harder, always try to improve, never wait for someone else to tell you what to do next!!!

Love,
Jamie

old enough for "big school"

why is it . . .

. . . that some birthdays are seasons while others are blips in time?

Our March birthdays are like that--the blips in time. We pool our moments for a communal event--some years here (Jamie, Christie, and I) and others with Garrett and Kira, the two distant first-week-of-spring grandbabies. Not that I'm complaining, not at all. The year Jamie arrived, my one New Year's resolution was that he would make his appearance before my birthday. He did--the evening before, 7:49pm I think . . . I've never been much of a birthday cake fan so sharing a cake has been a blessing in disguise. Funny, but this year, when my officemate surprised me with a cake at work, I realized that was my first "just for me" birthday cake in recent memory! I still ate only one piece and gave the rest, willingly, away :-)

In contrast, Michelle's mid-July birthday has been, almost from her arrival, a month-long event, usually combined with a family vacation week, often at the beach but sometimes in the mountains. Cassie's arrival, late July instead of early August, almost three years ago has meant sharing the summer limelight, but it hasn't shortened the celebration, not one long July day of it!

Which brings me to April . . . and my shun-the-limelight firstborn child. How could we not celebrate, even from a distance and with cyberspace tributes, her milestone birthday this year? Does she not, too, deserve to linger a while in our reflections of the joy she has brought into each of our lives? We love you, Kimberly :-)

But you've got serious competition for the April spotlight, oh girl of mine. That sweet baby boy of my baby boy will be officially old enough for "big school" tomorrow. Michael will have two parties in his honor this year--one for us adults tonight to savor the gift-opening ritual (hope FedEx has come through by the time I come home today) and one with his preschool friends and other children tomorrow. I will, of course, be there for both.

Oops, one more! Campbell will be 9 next week, with a party of his own for our family since he also shares his birthday with his half-sister. Like his mother, he has no problem with the extended birthday season :-) Mason, who has February all to himself, also celebrates twice.

I'll blog about Kelsey's May sweet sixteen another time . . .

Definitely a milestone birthday year!

More from Michelle

Kimberly...oh but she was the source of such jealousy as a child. She was always older, always blonder, had a higher IQ, scored higher on the SATs. All that stuff. Now that I am older and wiser, I can see how much Kimberly has helped to mold me into the person I am today. I am never content to sit still and be stagnant. Because Kimberly never is. She is the energizer bunny. Tireless. She was accepted into a fancy college in Pittsburgh, moved up there, found a wonderful man (Albrecht, of course) and got married. Had 3 wonderfully successful and beautiful children, and continued to be tireless. Somehow she managed to find a job where she could work from home...so she still had time to make phenomenal Christmas cookies (from scratch, probably), sew phenomenal Halloween costumes (by hand, probably), and escort her children to all of their extracurricular activities. Somehow she managed to find time to run 2 websites and write 2 books! Good grief, Kimberly! I can't keep up with you! And now I hear she is training for a 50 mile bike ride??? Sheesh! You are unbelievable, Kimberly! Just wanted to say how proud I am of you and all that you have accomplished in your first 40 years! I love you!!

when we lived in the mountains . . .

. . . and what a view! The daffodils were blooming at the foot of Parker Mountain and, at home, a quarter mile up the gravel drive, baby brother Jamie had finally arrived.

Two short years later came our time to say good-bye . . .

flower girl debut . . .

Fortunately for Kimberly (and her mother), Aunt Evelyne forgave her for delighting the congregation at her wedding as she created petal pictures on the altar steps during the ceremony.

big sister

Michelle arrived a week late, that very hot Virginia July of 1971. Kimberly and Raggedy Ann spent that week and more visiting Mama :-)

Sibling rivalry indeed?! Kimberly was born knowing how to be a big sister . . .

caught napping

velvet and curls

all dressed up
to meet
my
Daddy
home
from
the
war . . .