of Yo-Yo Ma and Robert Frost . . .

I wasn't prepared for the emotion. The parallels between our new President and my childhood hero, JFK, were evident, even without media input. While I might only vicariously understand what it means to have an African-American inaugurated President of our great land, I could, those long years ago, appreciate firsthand, as I watched Kennedy's inauguration with my Catholic boarding school classmates, what it meant to have a Catholic inaugurated President of our great land. I am still that true child of the '60's who welcomes change, bites her tongue (but not as often as she should), eschews to-do lists, boundaries, routines . . . And who is moved by the music of language, the language of music.

Robert Frost and I share a birthday, but he was part of me long before I knew that. Today, as I watched Obama's inauguration, my woods were filling up with snow. I live the litany of miles to go before I sleep, of promises to keep. My roads, too, diverged in a yellow wood. Like Frost, I have almost always taken the one less travelled by, choices that have, indeed, made all the difference . . .

My clearest firsthand memory (the others have been multiply revised by time and media replays) of Kennedy's inauguration is of Frost reading his poem. I forget, until reminded by a Google search or other prompt, that the poem he read--that he recited from memory, actually--was not the one he wrote for that occasion. That the sun on the snow that January 20th morning forty-eight years ago was too much for his frail vision .

[Robert Frost Reads Poem at JFK's Inauguration: January 20, 1961
http://www.americaslibrary.gov/cgi-bin/page.cgi/jb/modern/frost_1 ]

It wasn't the poetry who touched me today. It was the music. Just a few short months ago, I discovered (and blogged here about) Yo-Yo Ma's version of Simple Gifts. Yo-Yo Ma was/is my new favorite musician, courtesy of his rendition of Gabriel's Oboe which seriously challenges Galway's version as one of my all-time musical selections . . . As with Frost all those long winters ago, I was, today, witness to a performance that is sure to ring crystal clear in memory long after the sights and rhetoric of the day are overwritten by time and media replays.

'Tis a gift to be simple,
'Tis a gift to be free,
'Tis a gift to come down where we ought to be,
And when we find ourselves in the place just right,
It will be in the valley of love and delight.

Mama and the 7 grandbabies

the faces of me . . .

or what family and colleagues saw in me this Christmas . . .

created in Wordle, btw . . .

toy train memories . . .

When Jamie was a baby, Christmas was exquisitely simple. Santa's elves actually carved and sanded building blocks and crocheted colorful bags, by hand, to hold them. Even the ornaments on the tree (yes, including popcorn and cranberry strings) were handmade. Does anyone remember the recipe for the ornament dough???

The train table and trains, projects eternally in progress/process, came later. But, Jamie's first Christmas, I discovered a song in my books of Christmas carols for the piano that was to be forever linked to those precious Christmas memories of his babyhood. I could even play the song on the piano then--and for most of his childhood years . . . Not now . . .


I found our song today. Twenty years after my baby boy and I discovered "Old Toy Trains," Roger Miller gave that song to the world.

Where was I that Christmas of 1995 that I missed this . . . ? I remember attending a middle school Christmas concert (my last year as a teacher) and, in spite of my first and only abcessed (knock on wood!) tooth, discovering both solace and delight in the music. I remember that at midnight that New Year's Eve I was home alone, assembling one of those eternal jigsaw puzzles (on the table I de-puzzled and lemon-oiled yesterday ), and consoling (via landline) my broken-hearted middle child, also home alone on New Year's Eve . . . But Christmas I don't remember at all . . . 1993 had gifted me with Patty Larkin's "Good Thing" from Angels Running and James Galway's rendition of "Gabriel's Oboe" (on tape--no CD or mp3 for this one but the YoYo Ma version is even more awesome!). 1994 had eased an achingly lonely Christmas with David Lanz's Christmas Eve. 1995?

I purchased two copies of the mp3 today (the Roger Miller version--many have followed since)--one for my Zen V Plus and one for Jamie's iPod. Making new memories with an old song. Michael is into toy trains too :-) . . . or at least he was last spring . . .



I also purchased the acoustic guitar mp3 version (from Christmas Innocence by Peter Groenhof). There's my Seagull in the entryway to dream with and two grandbabies, Mason and Campbell, taking guitar lessons . . .

I have seen . . .

the littlest angel!

[insert picture here]

When I was four, a little angel--four hours old--presented himself to the venerable Gatekeeper and waited for admittance to the glorious kingdom of God. While "Little Angel" was not to mark his earthly resting place until our Daddy joined him in eternity, James Michael left his mark among us. I named my son James Michael--and Jamie named his son Michael.

When I think of Jamie and Christmas stories and childhood, I think of Charles Tazewell's The Littlest Angel. It was their story, a connection of sorts between the brother I was never to know and my son, his precious namesake.

I laughed through the tears last night as Michael, just a month younger than that four-year-old Littlest Angel . . .who presented himself to the venerable Gatekeeper and waited for admittance to the glorious kingdom of God, tumbled into my mind's image of that story.

From the story [and last night's children's Christmas pageant]:
His halo was permanently tarnished where he held onto it with one hot, little, chubby hand when he ran, and he was always running [into the communion rail (OUCH!!!) because all he could see was his proud family in the audience]. Furthermore, even when he stood very still, [when he was singing?] it never behaved like a halo should. it was always slipping down over his right eye . . . [uh-huh!!!]
Or over his left eye . . . [Amen!]
Or else, just for pure meanness, slipping off the back of his head [yes, it did!] and rolling away down some golden street just so he'd have to chase after it [according to Michael, who's heard The Littlest Angel at least twenty times!," his halo never slipped lower than just below his chin :-)] !

Head over halo. I have seen that and more!

I've never once read the story--this morning is no exception--without tears spilling over the beautiful ending . . . There it shone on that night of miracles, and its light was reflected down the centuries deep in the heart of all mankind. Yet, earthly eyes, blinded, too, by its splendor, could never know that the lowly gift of the Littlest Angel [a box which held his earthly simple pleasures] was what men would call forever,

"the shining Star of Bethlehem"

To my three generations of littlest angels . . .

thank you!

today's 2 B ;-) ~

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

all I want for Christmas is . . .

After another both harrowing and funny hour in the dentist's chair, I'm one step further along the path to normalcy.

Let's see . . .

Imagine someone installing an Erector set contraption in your mouth--and one of those tiny one-of-a-kind pieces slips out of her gloved grasp. I figured it was in the chair under me because I'd felt it graze my shoulder. She thought it was lurking somewhere inside my clothing. We were both wrong! This medical marvel that was soon to become a permanent part of my mouth had landed inside the dentist's shoe!

Sometime later the porcelain crown did an almost repeat, bouncing across the room.

The verdict--after multiple screwing and rescrewing and installing and reinstalling of the pieces--was that the mold for the tooth had twisted slightly somewhere between here and the lab and that I would need yet another 2-3-weeks-to-construct permanent crown. Which, of course, meant another 5 minutes with plastic goop congealing on my upper teeth . . .

The good news is that, after a considerable amount of scraping, the composite that was gluing my fake replacement tooth to its neighboring healthy tooth is gone. I feel like someone's removed a parasite from my mouth!

The other good news is that the crown that wasn't exactly right (too much space so debris would have collected between my teeth on a regular basis) is now attached, with temporary cement, to the permanent abutment which is attached to the permanent implant which is attached, hopefully for life, to my jawbone. I can floss and brush normally. I can bite. I can chew (just not sticky stuff yet) on both sides of my mouth. I can eat bagels for breakfast!!!!!!!!

So now, like the "All I Want for Christmas" song, I'm shooting for permanently-in-place-by-Christmas . . . ?!

Oh, and I can hang on to the $800 balance (of the $3600 tab) for another 2-3 weeks . . .

remember . . .

I have lived long enough to have my own memories of November 22, 1963.

This year, on that anniversary day and hour, I was absorbed in the memories of those gone before me, memories of other lost heroes . . .

little star . . .

twinkle

twinkle

a Toy Store story . . .

I am really intrigued by what Windows Moviemaker chose to leave out from the original videoclip. You'll need to use your imagination here to picture Percy's magical transition from Cassie's hand to Michael's and her predictable two-year-old response :-)

There's another story in the picture in the background. When my son was about 9 or 10, he decided he was ready to attempt counted cross-stitch. Having an older sister who excelled at the craft was both his inspiration and his project's eventual salvation. I purchased complimentary designs: Antique Store (in the background) for me and Toy Store for Jamie. Both were tucked away, unfinished, for years, until Kimberly decided to surprise Jamie one Christmas by completing his picture. (A snapshot of the project, as Jamie had left it, is taped to the back of the frame.) A few Christmases later, a completed Antique Store (probably the last time I attempted anything in the way of embroidery . . .) joined Toy Store in the nursery being prepared (yes, that wallpaper had to go!) for Michael's arrival.