New Year's Eve, part 2

so now it's New Year's Eve. . . and I'm bloggin'

not your ordinary holiday, or is it?

blogging on Christmas Eve???

I guess some would say I should get a life???

But it's been one of those simple pleasure kinds of days . . .

Can't remember the last time I baked macaroni and cheese. . . Maybe when the kids were little? Or made a German chocolate cake . . . Yes I do snap my own greenbeans, sometimes. . . fix both ham and turkey on occasion too. Today, it was all about the sheer simplicity of the menu, the simple pleasure of sharing it with family, and the pleasure of finding just the right combination to satisfy all those varied palates.

Too soon to share the gift stories--only Christmas Eve after all. But Campbell says I have his "number" (let's see what he builds with his tools this year. . .) and Michelle is in Tiffany heaven and my refrigerator gallery is about to graduate from clutter to elegance, thanks to Christie. . .

So, when everyone left my house for the next stops in their soveryfull lives, I opted for the children's Christmas Eve service--too tired for Midnight Mass and wanting to get out early tomorrow to see what Santa leaves tonight on his two other local stops. . . 5pm service. I snagged one of the last parking places in the back lot at 4:20. Not a seat to be found inside, until Father Bob makes this Southern gentlemen plea and one Southern gentleman finds me and offers me his seat. And, like a Southern lady (sorry, Mama, I wasn't very French independent tonight), I say thank you. Front row, one of the best seats in the house for the children's Christmas pageant. Two favorites: "hark, the herald angels. . ." (Mama always asked me to sing that for her at Christmas, in those long ago days when I actually could sing!) and "away in a manger. . ." (old favorite with a new memory today, Michael singing to the Baby Jesus in his green wicker cradle on my hearth this afternoon) . . .

I must have been a very good girl this year, I think, to be so richly blessed on this Christmas Eve. . .

Joy to our world

and peace to all people of good will . . .

Christmas and paper cranes. . .

Paper cranes are the oldest ornaments on my tree. . . I've made a zillion of them, before and since this one and her sisters came to be--but kept none but the original family. I think there are seven of them now. . .

I can still make them from memory. And I did so just the other day--a get well wish for a dear friend and colleague. . .

Amazing how one thin book, an amazing story between its covers, has shaped so much of my life. Sadako, in her lifetime, did not reach her personal goal of 1000 (and, honestly, I doubt my "zillion" is close to 1000 either) but, in her memory, shoolchildren around the world fold thousands each year. This is one of the few years when I haven't taught some of them how . . . yet.

Charleston in December. . .

I really, really, really did not want to spend the last three days at a conference in Charleston!

But I'm glad, from this vantage point, that I did. . .

Simple pleasures. . .

being among friends

splurging on dinners that cost waaaay too much

but taste oooooooh so good

laughter

knowing it's OK to be me

books, books, and more books

valuing old customs and new ideas

feeling good about Monday's presentation

and checking it off as done

summer in December

having someone to clean up after me

not minding a bad hair day

leaving the car parked for three days

walking

taking the stairs

clearing my mind for the days ahead

and filling up my heart

with peace

blue room dreamer. . .

Had to brush away a few tears this morning . . . I hadn't expected that.

It was early in the ballet--a schoolday morning, 350+ seventh-graders and their chaperones. Dark, thankfully, since I'm not sure what the students on either side of me would have thought or that I could have explained. . . Tears.

I've always had a soft spot for Ebenezer Scrooge--in black and white, recast as the Grinch, Ebenezer the boy, and Ebenezer the old man shivering in his miser-y. But I did not cry today for Ebenezer, the boy on stage. A piece of me envied his experience--his to live on this stage at this moment in time. Mine only to dream all those long years ago in that blue, blue room . . .

I chart the best memories of my adolescent and teen years--and all the years since--by their music. "Greenfields" was my first love, "Chestnuts roasting . . .," my second (though I would not, until years later, see or taste my first chestnut). But the discovery that was to last a lifetime, the discovery of this thing called "classical music" (I now know I'm a lover of all things adagio), shaped a space in which dreams, however improbable, were infinitely possible.

The first record--long-playing, vinyl?--was a sampler of classics, a TV promotion. I've always thought my mother was the one who ordered it but, of late, I'm discovering Daddy bought things too then, like the aluminum Christmas tree . . . ? The record--just enough to make me so very hungry for more.

More came in the guise of the Nutcracker Suite. Overnight, the clutzy swan of uncertain equilibrium (my mother reminded me of that chronic flaw this Thanksgiving) became a ballerina. I savored those rare moments when the house was all mine--when in the privacy, first of the Candlewood kitchen and, at long last, senior year, the Hardee Road blue room, I danced my heart out. Twirling, twirling, one leg raised to clear a chair back. In my most sacred of dreams I danced the "Pas de Deux" with a faceless partner, someone much like this morning's young Ebenezer.

Tears, but with a smile, for the blue room dreamer . . . for the stuff of which rainbows are made. I still dream improbable--yet infinitely possible, somehow, some way, some day--dreams.

doctor, lawyer, Indian chief

What I really want to write about is pretty simple, but certainly not a simple pleasure . . . so should I? But, if I don't write something today, November slips by unrecorded . . .

I could write about . . . finally finding
a new primary physician
I might be
willing
to see
again

but I can't write about the fact that,

because I don't go to doctors as a rule,

my insurance won't cover

a penny of her bill

("not covered,"

"exceeds allowable,"

"you haven't started

using your deductible")

or, I could write about being

thankful for the gift of

good health

but not that I question why

"borderline" is

"normal"

or, I could write about how

I've figured out how to do

the last seven--

and next two--

doctor/dentist

appointments

without missing

a day of

work or summer

but not

that I have my priorities

confused

or I could save

writing about

health

and

doctors

and

all things related

until . . .

maybe never?

Good idea!

But,

you know,

there is something to be said

for being told you have

a good

(AKA perfect EKG)

heart. . .

Enough said!

Daddy and his girls . . .

I remember . . .

the travels of Flat Garrett . . .

Flat Garrett has been my almost constant companion since he arrived in my mailbox on Tuesday. I have to send him home to Pennsylvania, probably on Wednesday, so that he can tell his friends at Oakdale Elementary what he's been up to in this faraway state.


Click on the title of this post to read F.G.'s letters home if you want to know what he really thinks of his week with Grandmommy!

Flat Garrett
taking a break
from pansy planting
this afternoon.

Dear Amazon.com Customer,

Is the email copied below another inconvenient truth? Or perhaps simply a timely reminder that maybe I should make the effort to WATCH that DVD, assuming that I can find it . . .


I did have a very environmentally-friendly day--outside, reel mowing and pansy planting. I wonder about the Colorburst fertilizer though . . . but I only used a little bit, I promise!


Oh, and about that email . . .


Yesterday, Al Gore won the 2007 Nobel Peace Prize for his work on raising global environmental awareness, spreading the message in books and the Academy Award(R)-winning documentary "An Inconvenient Truth." The popularity of these titles and other films such as "Planet Earth" and "March of the Penguins" proves there's no shortage of interest in the subject of our planet. As someone who's bought environment-related titles, you can find more books and DVDs on Al Gore and the environment below.