epiphany

World English Dictionary, definition 2: epiphany-any moment of great or sudden revelation.

My baby boy--who could not carry a tune until second grade--sang the second solo of his life today . . . and what an epiphany that was for me.  Jamie, a singer--and an accomplished one at that!  Yes!

His first solo was as a second grade.  I was not there . . . but at another school that evening, greeting other parents of children not my own.  Creating a void in my lifetime memory collection.  A void filled to its brim and beyond today!

Collins English Dictionary definition: Epiphany-a Christian festival held on Jan 6, commemorating, in the Western Church, the manifestation of Christ to the Magi and, in the Eastern Church, the baptism of Christ.

How fitting that Jamie's solo today was in the words and the voice of those three wise men . . .

In my lifetime memory collection are images--in color but blurred with time--of the Christmas pageants I religiously recruited (or compelled, if need be) my three younger siblings to present each year for our parents.  We were costumed, of course.  I remember especially the colorful (silk or rayon?) robes my grandmother across the wide Atlantic sent one year, colorful like Joseph's coat, worthy of kings from the Orient.  I remember the songs we sang.  Always opening with "O Little Town of Bethlehem." Did we dare sing Martin Luther's "Away in a Manger"?  "Silent Night," I'm sure . . . and maybe "The First Noel," in honor of our mother because we thought it was French (the minister this morning had a very British explanation of the origin of "Noel"). 

For my mother, I always ended our pageant by singing her favorite" "Hark the Herald Angels Sing."  My solo in the days when I could sing. How fitting that this morning's cantata ended with choir and congregation singing the third verse of that hymn, words still engraved on my heart.

And for me, most especially for me, we always sang "We Three Kings"--every verse!

For me, most years since, those wise men had to come to Bethlehem, had to once again experience their epiphany, before the dismantling of Christmas could begin . . . 

NOTE TO SELF: the tree stays up, the Nativity scenes in their places of honor, until January 7, 2011!

remembering a king and an earl . . .

1976
"The Treasures of Tutankhamun" exhibition opens in Washington, D.C., to a record-breaking crowd of five million, before moving to Chicago, New Orleans, Los Angeles, Seattle, and New York.
http://www.neh.gov/whoweare/timeline.html
National Endowment for the Humanities

It was January, one of those Virginia wintry days when the trees from the Parker Mountain farmhouse to Washington’s Smithsonian were treacherous:wondrous ice-clad marvels, the stuff of which fairy-tale illustrations are made. For me, that day was to be a fairy-tale dream come true.

My fascination with mythology paralleled my fascination with outer space in my adolescent and teen years. The names of those other-world gods and of those other-world planets and moon and stars and months and days that bore their names . . . I knew them all. I discovered the pyramids of Egypt—and the tomb of its boy-pharaoh—at about the time that I discovered academic writing. My first ever research “paper” was about King Tut. And now, on that coldest day of a new year, I would place myself in the presence of Tutankhamen’s earthly treasures, those which believers in other gods had once set aside for their boy-king's journey into the afterlife.

How strange then that—among the throughtheyears ghostly memories of my baby boy in his stroller as we waited in the long-lines cold, of ice skaters twirling on a frozen outdoor rink, of either the remnants or the preparation for someone’s inauguration, of Tutankhamen’s awe-inspiring treasures—the one memory from that day that is yet crystal clear is that of a cup of tea!

I think it was in the cafeteria of the National Gallery of Art, though I have no memory of art that day other than the contents of that cup of tea. I could not tell you of bergamot other than its magic . . . that day, and so, so, so  many wintry (and not so wintry) days since.

Earl Grey tea and King Tutankhamen’s treasures . . . what a day full of simple pleasures that was . . . at a time in my life when simple pleasures meant the world . . .

Almost time to brew a second mug of tea. I was “out”—not of tea (I have become quite the collector over the years) but of Earl Grey—until this afternoon . . . This afternoon, I also placed an Amazon.com order for White Chocolate Kisses, Cherry Vanilla, Vanilla Caramel, and something with eggnog in its name? Yes, tea. Six-pack boxes of tea bags—some for Christmas bags and stockings but, yes, many for me.

But none, much as I enjoy each of them and will enjoy those yet to be discovered, will ever displace the memory of that magical moment, that first sip, Earl Grey . . .

Pristine . . .

I was sim-ply trying to add this im-age as my G-mail signa ture, hon-est! And, as it so often does,
my building frustration morphed itself into creative solution-making attempts and somehow landed here in the shape of yet another blog post . . .

I suppose I should tell the rest of the story--at least the public version--while I'm here . . .

That this photo exists is nothing sort of miraculous, in my opinion.  Years and years and a lifetime ago, when I was without a home (a rented condo, even one with a lake view, is not a home in my opinion), I bought three roses.  These were to be my front-steps-planters garden, faithful greeters of my weary soul after too-long, too-weary days of trying to sort out who I was and how to make my way to someday. . .

The first of these was Peace.  And Peace was the first to succumb to the overabundance of shade and tree roots in her new garden home in the haven I now call home.  I've replaced her . . . maybe three times?  The only Peace rose that has survived me, though, is the lovely cross-stitched blossom my mother gifted me with one Christmas.  A beautifully symbolic gift, given its history and hers and ours . . .So Peace now graces one wall of my dining room, blooming eternally where family comes together in those blessedly peaceful days between Christmas and New Years . . .

The second rose was Brigadoon.  I must admit that the name entranced me, bringing back fond memories of a movie of that name and of the friend I shared it with that long-ago college evening . . .  But I have since come to admire Brigadoon most for her courage to survive, to gift me with a single bloom each spring, each bloom more glorious than the last, as if she knows it will be her last.  For most of her life she has been a single stem, significantly eaten away at its base the last several of those years. Brigadoon bloomed for me this spring . . . as the trees above her were leafing out.

But Pristine, the third of these long-ago roses, did not . . .  And I thought, in the throes of midsummer's challenges, that she had moved on before I could let go of that elusive . . . hope? . . . that her survival represented.  So I let go, drifted, moved on, moved on again, lived as I was meant to live . . . I thought.

One bearably warm late August afternoon, I retreated with mountains of schoolwork to the back porch hammock swing.  Not sure how long I rocked and read before . . . I saw . . . her perennial, her pristinely beautiful gift to me . . .

?

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

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 . . .

old glass and new blossoms

to be happy about :-)

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!

Easter weekend casuals

Back to the reality of the work week in the morning but, at the moment, everything's smiles and sunshine deep within. I've learned that microwaving a kid's meal is more complicated than cooking one from scratch, that a camera is a good excuse to play spectator, that we often miss what's most obvious, that a few minutes in a hammock swing is still worth its weight in gold . . . Other stuff too but I have those proverbial miles to go yet and it's almost bedtime :-)

one perfect morning . . .

This has been so.

65. walking a cool, early morning beach framed in sun glow and sea breeze
66. wearing sandy-hemmed sweats
67. being able to go the extra mile the day after the race
68. having just enough change for the parking fee you didn't expect
69. beginning with Amigos Para Siempre (both versions randomly back-to-back)
70. collecting not just one baby's ear but two :-)
71. remembering "here on the shore, turned into stone, lies a piece of a conch's one-spiral cone"
72. collecting whelk fragments for someday's frame
73. finding both Carolinas' state shells on the same morning

74. ending with Somewhere in Time (Michael Crawford with words :-)
75. eating breakfast both before and after

a home song

I find it interesting that this evening, for the second time in as many springs, I'm relieved to learn that I have not been "selected" for a professional opportunity. Both might have offered additional financial security--a position more immune from budget cuts or a second income to bolster rainy day accounts. But, even in this unsettling economy and with retirement on the not-too-distant horizon, I'm loving where I am. Maybe I reach out for those other possibilities just to ensure that I don't become complacent, lose my edge? Or maybe this is my Everest: I reach out because the opportunity is there?

Whatever the reason, both rejections gifted me back precious summer weeks I would have lost to work. And today, after two glorious afternoon hours puttering in my wilderness but wannabe well-groomed yard, I was especially grateful that I had not traded my summer for financial security before realizing, once again, how much this annual tussle with nature is an inherent part of who I am.

64. Happy 11th anniversary, home of mine! Looks like we'll be spending much of our sweet slow summer days together again after all :-)

I'm smiling. Are you?

love u infinity plus one

63.

to be happy about today . . .

62. 5.5 years since LASIK and still seeing 20/20. . .

and my reading vision is pretty remarkable also :-)

So maybe doctor's visits aren't all

frustrating

jumpthroughus

hoops

???

Mama and the 7 grandbabies

today's 2 B ;-) ~

61. chasing a patch of rainbow on a cloud-studded December horizon

more to be happy about . . .

51. coming out on the right half of a 50:50 chance
52. having your adult daughters, in the same week, call you their . . . buddy :-)
53. laughing at what makes you afraid
54. laughing at yourself
55. crying over a good book
56. staying up late and sleeping in later
57. making the most of Daylight Savings Time
58. noticing contrail-crossed autumn-afternoon skies


59. remembering what was once good about October . . .
60. resurrecting the mending pile

listen!

more quirks ;-)

43. cherishing crystal clear credit in chaotic times
44. owning too many books but ordering even more
45. taking summer clothes to the cleaners before the first leaf falls
46. investing in Ace braces and reaping wellness dividends
47. rediscovering apple butter
48. fueling imaginations with a forest face and a tree door
49. not having to do everything today
50. holding fast to someday . . .

quirky things to be happy about . . .

33. going shopping in the closet
34. slowing into the therapeutic zone
35. renewing a Lincoln rocker
36. conversing in old glass: slag, goofus, opalescent, carnival, whimsey, custard, rose bowl, nappy, jack-in-the-pulpit, coin dot, hobnail, vaseline, epergne
37. enjoying neighborhood walks with an mp3 bff
38. blogging on Friday evenings when Monday seems forever away
39. collecting everything adagio

40. knowing a Seagull guitar is tucked away for someday . . .
41. finding blue paisley capris at 75% off (and in a size you thought you'd never see again!)
42. holding fast to dreams . . .

7 more reasons to be happy . . .

left-to-right, top-to-bottom

26. Cassie

27. Kelsey

28. Campbell

29. Mason

30. Michael

31. Kira

32. Garrett

5 more things to be happy about . . .

I never asked my daddy why he loved baseball so. I just knew that I didn't, especially after he died during the World Series and didn't get to see, this side of heaven, who won.

I thought of a million and one excuses on the way home from work today--reasons not to be at a baseball game tonight either.

Wouldn't have missed it for the world!

Mason may accomplish what his great-granddaddy never could--make a baseball fan of me :-)








More things to be happy about . . .

21. watching someone you love earn the game ball

22. celebrating someone's personal best

23. knowing that the top of the inning comes before the bottom of the inning

24. soaking in a spring evening on the sidelines

25. paying forward a free movie ticket



My son-in-law (oops, I stand corrected--it was my daughter :-) asked me tonight who won that long-ago world series. Here's the answer, courtesy of Wikipedia:

The 1969 World Series was played between the New York Mets and the Baltimore Orioles, with the Mets prevailing in 5 games to accomplish one of the greatest upsets in Series history, as that particular Orioles squad was (and still is by some baseball pundits) considered to be one of the finest ever. The World Series win earned the team the sobriquet "Miracle Mets," as they had risen from the depths of mediocrity (the 1969 team had the first winning record in Mets history).

A delighted Met fan held up a sign after the Mets won the final game: "There Are No Words."
The 1969 World Series was played October 11-16. There was no game on October 13, 1969. Maybe the teams paused too, on their way from Memorial to Shea, to honor the passing of a man who so loved their game . . .

OK, Daddy, were you going for the Mets or the Orioles? Knowing you, I'd suspect it was the underdog team. Glad that somewhere, that week, in the world of things you loved, a miracle happened . . .