Where's YOUR beauty?

You had to guess that somewhere along the line I'd demand some audience participation. I think it would be beautiful if you would tell me the beautiful thing about your day...whichever day you read this. Tell me on the comments page! You can do it anonymously! Come On!!!!!!! THAT is the most wondrous thing in my day, to have the anticipation of finding out the beauty of other people's day.

Wild at Heart

You know what's cool? To see a couple so in love, so enthralled with the other that they cannot take their eyes off each other. I felt the need to write about that tonight, because I've seen it develop. I've seen this beautiful love take hold and blossom. I'm talking about Stan and Stan's Man. They spend most of the day together. They sprawl on the couch, Stan's head resting on his Man. They go outside together, and then, if the Man is missing, Stan searches all over the backyard until he finds his Man and brings him inside to warm by the fire. Of course, as history would have it, very soon, Stan, in his final act of crazy love, will chew all the cotton stuffing out of his Man. He will bite the small plastic noise maker into a million pieces. He will do it with pure and absolute love.

In the end. I'll have to take Stan to a short speed dating session at Petsmart where he will find his next Man. It's a beautiful thing.

Past Beauty

I was doing the dishes at work today. There is a three compartment sink in the back room. Wash, rinse and sanitize. Business was slow and so I took a couple bus tubs to the back and went to work. Mostly hard plastics, some glasses and mugs. A few half and half thermoses and some utensils. I was washing this one ornate glass cake stand, I think we use it for displaying scones or cupcakes, and it reminded me of my mom.

One time when I was quite small, maybe around six, my mom had an emergency. She was upstairs washing dishes and I was downstairs in the garage coloring. I was trying very hard to stay inside the lines. We had a split level house where the downstairs exited out into the garage and the driveway. The floor of the garage was very smooth and very cold. It must have been spring because I didn't have a coat or sweater on. Suddenly I heard my mom scream. A horrible, chilling, sharp wail. I looked up and saw her shoot out the door and into the garage. She was holding onto one arm with a towel. The towel was already dripping with blood. The blood flew off the fringe of the towel and onto the garage floor. She ran right by me, still sitting there coloring, and ran out into the bright sun.

We had wonderful neighbors on Meadow Lane. The Qualls next door, the Hienrichs on the other side. The Hammonds around the corner, and the Dockers across the street from them. Supons down the street and the Huffmans across from us. Mrs Huffman heard my mom scream and came running outside. Her car was unlocked and the keys were in the ignition already (it was Kansas in the 60's and that's where everyone kept their car keys). She opened the door of the car and my mother seemed to just float right into that car. They drove away with my mom looking back at me, Mrs Huffman yelling, go over to the Hammond's. I guess I did. I do remember being over at Lori Hammond's house unsure and feeling weird. I was young enough that I can remember wondering if my mom was going to come back. Truly not knowing.

It turned out she had been washing a big glass bowl. The one she always made cakes in. I can remember now how my finger would glide along the top rim of that bowl after the cake batter had been poured into cake pans, skimming off scant remains of batter to eat. She had dropped it and it split right in two, one half slicing her hand almost clean off.

I thought about that story today when I was washing dishes, wondering where the beauty of my day would come from. I thought about that story and about the wonderfulness of seeing my mom drive up, hours later with my dad, wrist all bandaged up. The beauty of her just coming home.

Oh, just blame it on the birthday weekend

Feb/8 - Jerry saying, yeah, for anyone who's had cancer and is still breathing, it's all beautiful.

Feb/9 - My son giving me a handmade coupon book that consist's only of all the chores HE'S SUPPOSED TO DO ANYWAY, but that ends with the words, I hope your birthday is the best day ever, because you are the best mom ever.

Two Days

Okay, it;s February 7th. I missed the sixth. And the beauty of February 6th is that I can miss a day and it's okay. The beauty lies in writing about the excellence of the day the NEXT day. I didn't get it the last time I did a 30 day blog commitment I thought I had to be PERFECT. But it's really okay to miss a day. So, today I write about them both.

Yesterday, the 6th, was busy. It's my birthday weekend, which starts off my birthday week. The whole day was packed full. Work, then a play date, that included a raucous game of kickball, boys against moms. Then the grocery store and home for an evening party. I was busy! The beauteous part was the whole flipping day; I have a job I like, friends to play kickball with, a good man who helped with the party, and then all of the good mans relatives who came over for drinks and chili and KARAOKE! So, it was one big fat beautiful day and I was too involved in it to write about it.

Then today was a continuation of the birthday weekend. It started out a bit more precarious....went to the health food store for a chocolate tasting, which was a complete failure, what with a freaking bazillion people milling about, and I ran into a small child (who hopped back up off the floor and was FINE), and then I dropped my phone and the battery shot off and as I picked it up, B backed into a stack of glass soda bottles which teetered and came very close to crashing to the floor. We high tailed it out of there and headed out to Cost Plus. Tonight, I had dinner with four girlfriends and just got home. So, today's greatness was either dancing to Tina Turner in my friend Cody's kitchen, or, running outside at 10:30 pm and drawing chalk outlines of ourselves on the neighbor's driveway. Hmmm, toss up for the most perfect moment.

Yeah, beauty, in the eye of the beholder.

Animal

Barney. Mr. Barnes. The fine cat, that sleeps all day and will knock everything off the nightstand in the middle of the night. You can smush your face into Barney's fur and listen while he purrs. Barney always thinks there is a mouse underneath the comforter when it is just a hand wiggling a finger. Barney loves to lie on warm laundry and clean his tail. Barney is the same color as Stan, but in different increments. Barney eats coffee beans (2 each morning) and tortilla chips (crunchcrunchcrunch).

Speedballing my liquids

Well, I worked ten hours today. Yes, ten. I'm going to dream about steaming milk and pulling espresso. I kept myself alert at all times by drinking plenty of double tall soy lattes. They are my favorite coffee drink now. But, before I head to dream land, I'm going to indulge in my loveliness of the day...this wonderful red wine called Cabin Fever. It's amazing. Nicely rich with subtle tannins, a hint of vanilla and a tiny bit of chocolate. Slight fruit and an exquisite nose. And it's $4.99 a bottle. Wow. Beauty.

Is she hungry?

This, my friends, is creamed hamburger on whole wheat toast. I am not going to call it by any other name as some people might. Because to me, it is one of the most wonderful beautiful comfort foods known to carnivores. Along with tuna noodle casserole, and chili. And chocolate cake with brown sugar frosting. And curried, balsamic lentils with carrots. Or a baked potato loaded with cheese and bacon. I'm going to go eat my dinner now.

It's not always a bad thing

The exquisiteness of avoidance. Ahhhhh. Woke up this morning and the Superbowl seemed so far away. Didn't read the paper. Didn't glance at the Yahoo news headlines. Didn't talk to Jay about football. Did not allow ESPN on the television. Perfect. The feeling of bile in the pit of my stomach had dissipated by this morning and I avoided anything that may have brought it back. By this evening the Superbowl really was far away. I looked at Yahoo news at 4:30 pm and the headline was about some stimulus package. The paper, unread, was in the recycle bin. When Jay mentioned the Superbowl, I asked him about his Science project. I'm all better now because of a simple, beautiful mental tool I call avoidance. And now, 24 hours later, I can truly say, It's only a football game.

Loser

So, my beautiful moment was going to be when the Arizona Cardinals won the Superbowl. And then, they didn't. And it was so close. And it was so possible. And Jay and I were hollering in the living room. And then, with less than a minute left, Pittsburgh made a touchdown. For a minute, no 10 seconds, I wanted to weep. Truly. I wanted to collapse on the floor and sob. I wanted them to win. I wanted my team to win. And then, when they lost, I wanted to immerse myself in the despair of it. But there's this weird voice in my head that always brings me back to balance. Usually, I appreciate it. It's the voice that reminds me that there are more important things in the world than football games. It makes me think that it must be great for all the Steelers fans. WTF!? I am confronted by that serotonin voice telling me there's always next year, and that at least no one got hurt. But, despite the balance. I still wanted my team to win. And even with that voice in my ear, I can't see the game in the same beautiful way I would have had they won.

So, beautiful thing, I'm still thinking. It wasn't the game. The game was a great football game. Either team could have won it. But it wasn't beautiful. It sucked. I'm searching here. What other beautiful things filled my day? It could have that damn speckled chicken taking a dust bath. That made me laugh. No. It could be the cat purring next to me; the one that I woke up to trying to hook a soft claw on my nose. No. In fact, this reminds me of when I was a kid and something would make me mad, and then I'd hold onto it all day. That's what I'm doing. I'm holding onto the loss. I would have felt completely different if my team had won. It would have all been beautiful...the game, the chicken, the cat. As it is, I'm going to let that one thing negate all the other beauty in my day. Damn. Do you know what I mean? That feeling when you just know you're being unreasonable but you can't stop yourself? And then you hate that you feel that way, and you can see how ridiculous it is, and that makes it still worse? At least it's night and I can go to bed.

I guess the beauty is that I will only hold onto it for today. See, I did find it. It's just twisted.

I break a Hershey bar up into the tub of popcorn...

Slumdog Millionaire. Go see it.

Beautiful conversation about Slumdog Millionaire......kind of....
Son - So, what did you and B do today?
Me (after picking my son up from his father's house) - We saw a movie, Slumdog Millionaire. I think you could even see it. It was wonderful. This year I want to see all the movies that are up for the Academy Awards"
Son - Is Mall Cop up for an award?
Me - Ummm. No.
Son - Man, that's a great movie. I can't believe it's not up for an award. It was the #1 rated movie for at least three weeks in a row.
Me - Oh. Maybe Slumdog wouldn't work for you.
Son - Yeah, the guy who played the mall cop was awesome. Man, I loved that movie. I can't believe it's not up for movie of the year.
Me - That good huh?

Beauty beauty beauty

After only two days of searching out beauty, I cannot stand the actual word "beauty." It's a word that, after you say it a hundred times (okay two times) it starts to sound stupid. So, I'm getting rid of the word but not the concept. It may be the exquisiteness of the day, or the superbitude, or just the loveliness. Forget superbitude, it sounds like Jeff Spicoli from Fast Times at Ridgemont High. Although, it's not always a bad thing to sound like Jeff Spicoli. There are definitely days I wish I was Jeff Spicoli. I won't go into that now.

So, the beauty of the day (hahahaha) is that my taxes are done. Sweet.

Oh, and then there was also this poem by Mary Oliver that I read. Yes. Beautiful.


Flare

1.
Welcome to the silly, comforting poem.

It is not the sunrise,
which is a red rinse,
which is flaring all over the eastern sky;

it is not the rain falling out of the purse of God;

it is not the blue helmet of the sky afterward,

or the trees, or the beetle burrowing into the earth;

it is not the mockingbird who, in his own cadence,
will go on sizzling and clapping
from the branches of the catalpa that are thick with blossoms,
that are billowing and shining,
that are shaking in the wind.

2.
You still recall, sometimes, the old barn on your
great-grandfather's farm, a place you visited once,
and went into, all alone, while the grownups sat and
talked in the house.
It was empty, or almost. Wisps of hay covered the floor,
and some wasps sang at the windows, and maybe there was
a strange fluttering bird high above, disturbed, hoo-ing
a little and staring down from a messy ledge with wild,
binocular eyes.
Mostly, though, it smelled of milk, and the patience of
animals; the give-offs of the body were still in the air,
a vague ammonia, not unpleasant.
Mostly, though, it was restful and secret, the roof high
up and arched, the boards unpainted and plain.
You could have stayed there forever, a small child in a corner,
on the last raft of hay, dazzled by so much space that seemed
empty, but wasn't.
Then--you still remember--you felt the rap of hunger--it was
noon--and you turned from that twilight dream and hurried back
to the house, where the table was set, where an uncle patted you
on the shoulder for welcome, and there was your place at the table.

3.
Nothing lasts.
There is a graveyard where everything I am talking about is,
now.

I stood there once, on the green grass, scattering flowers.

4.
Nothing is so delicate or so finely hinged as the wings
of the green moth
against the lantern
against its heat
against the beak of the crow
in the early morning.

Yet the moth has trim, and feistiness, and not a drop
of self-pity.

Not in this world.

5.
My mother
was the blue wisteria,
my mother
was the mossy stream out behind the house,
my mother, alas, alas,
did not always love her life,
heavier than iron it was
as she carried it in her arms, from room to room,
oh, unforgettable!

I bury her
in a box
in the earth
and turn away.
My father
was a demon of frustrated dreams,
was a breaker of trust,
was a poor, thin boy with bad luck.
He followed God, there being no one else
he could talk to;
he swaggered before God, there being no one else
who would listen.
Listen,
this was his life.
I bury it in the earth.
I sweep the closets.
I leave the house.

6.
I mention them now,
I will not mention them again.

It is not lack of love
nor lack of sorrow.
But the iron thing they carried, I will not carry.

I give them--one, two, three, four--the kiss of courtesy,
of sweet thanks,
of anger, of good luck in the deep earth.
May they sleep well. May they soften.

But I will not give them the kiss of complicity.
I will not give them the responsibility for my life.

7.
Did you know that the ant has a tongue
with which to gather in all that it can
of sweetness?

Did you know that?

8.
The poem is not the world.
It isn't even the first page of the world.

But the poem wants to flower, like a flower.
It knows that much.

It wants to open itself,
like the door of a little temple,
so that you might step inside and be cooled and refreshed,
and less yourself than part of everything.

9.
The voice of the child crying out of the mouth of the
grown woman
is a misery and a disappointment.
The voice of the child howling out of the tall, bearded,
muscular man
is a misery, and a terror.

10.
Therefore, tell me:
what will engage you?
What will open the dark fields of your mind,
like a lover
at first touching?

11.
Anyway,
there was no barn.
No child in the barn.

No uncle no table no kitchen.

Only a long lovely field full of bobolinks.

12.
When loneliness comes stalking, go into the fields, consider
the orderliness of the world. Notice
something you have never noticed before,

like the tambourine sound of the snow-cricket
whose pale green body is no longer than your thumb.

Stare hard at the hummingbird, in the summer rain,
shaking the water-sparks from its wings.

Let grief be your sister, she will whether or no.
Rise up from the stump of sorrow, and be green also,
like the diligent leaves.

A lifetime isn't long enough for the beauty of this world
and the responsibilities of your life.

Scatter your flowers over the graves, and walk away.
Be good-natured and untidy in your exuberance.

In the glare of your mind, be modest.
And beholden to what is tactile, and thrilling.

Live with the beetle, and the wind.

This is the dark bread of the poem.
This is the dark and nourishing bread of the poem.

The beauty of the first hug

and I don't mean the first hug in an adult relationship, which also has a shiverallthroughyourcosmos beauty. I'm talking the first hug from someone not related to you when you're in fifth grade and you've never been hugged by someone like that in your whole life kind of hug. And my boy told me about it today, smiling, fiddling with his fedora (yeah, really, a fedora), kind of shy but wanting to tell me. A girl likes him. And he likes her too. "Well, you know, mom, like a friend."

That smile was NOT a like-a-friend kind of smile. It was sweet and slightly embarrassed. When he told me, he was about an hour past that hug but I could see he was still held by it. Enveloped in that innocent, heart filling beauty.

Don't worry, the "beauty" posts won't all be sappy. I find all kinds of weird, bizarre things to be perfectly beautiful too and I'm sure I'll share them with you.

P.S.

Just in case I don't know what to look for (see post below).

Beauty....... adorableness, advantage, allure, artistry, attraction, bloom, blessing, charm, class, comeliness, delicacy, divine, elegance, exquisiteness, fairness, fascination, glamor, good looks, good thing, grace, handsomeness, loveliness, polish, pulchritude, refinement, shapeliness, strength, style, symmetry, virtue, winsomeness

Thirty days of something

I do not really notice beauty anymore. This is, thankfully, a temporary condition. I realized it tonight, after a Northern Arizona Bookfest meeting, as I walked to my car. I was in a parking lot, wet pavement from melting snow, scattered pedestrians walking about, noise from cars and people. I looked up, and there, above me, was a beautiful sky. Very light teal on the horizon, seeping up into a darker, cerulean, and then getting all rich and cobalt at the top of the sky. The moon, just a sliver (as a child I always called it a fingernail moon) lay cupped like a rocking horse rocker and above it was a planet (which I decided was Venus because I think any planet I see in the sky is Venus). Man, it was just absolutely beautiful. And that's when I thought, I never see this beauty. I'm beauty immune at the moment. I will not, at this time, bemoan how busy I am. I will not fill you in on my days, which consist largely of work, work, computer, class prep, and my child's homework, with some laundry and dishwashing thrown in. Back when I started this blog, I was beginning my one year of opus and I found beauty EVERYWHERE. I searched it out, I found it under rocks and pieces of wood, I created it damnit. I, at least, thought about it. Now, it seemed like some odd shock to my system to even glimpse a great sky.

Also, I've been really remiss about the frequency of my blog writing. I liked the 30 day goal I set myself up for a couple months ago. Here's what I think. I think I'm someone who needs to have goals and purpose. I write more and better with a deadline. If I set parameters and make rules, I usually do a much better job. Not only that, I enjoy it. So, here I go again....thirty days of something beautiful. Each day. My opinion. One beautiful thing. And I'm going to blog it. The old, twobirdswithonestone idea. Consistent blogs/search for beauty.

1/28 - 2/28

Tonight, the sky. Immense, blue, silent on it's own and holding tight to all the noise in the parking lot. Cold, breathable, mysterious. Beautiful.

2008 Summation (not)

I'll sum up 2008 next year. It definitely had its highs and lows. Right now I have more important things to write....

My wonderful friend Kate sent this to me today.

Watch this

Sometimes life gets so hectic or overwhelming that we forget the importance of friends. This video made me remember. And it's not just a girl thing. B talked to several of his friends today and I could feel how good it was for him to do that. Feeling connected is such a relief. It's a comfort. It's a hoot. Sometimes it's a good cry.

Also, I started teaching school again and I always hand out a student information survey. I had my favorite response to question #2 yesterday. The question is "What are your educational and employment goals?" and I had a girl in my poetry class write, "I don't really want to get a job. I want to live in a flying house"

She is so getting an A.

Hollywood

I'm watching the Golden Globes. I'm having a glass of champagne and I'm folding laundry while I watch. There was a time when I was going to be up there. I was going to accept an award, and thank people. I would thank my parents, and everyone associated with the film/sitcom/drama and I would probably get teary and be slightly funny and I would most likely trip on the steps up to the podium. I went to acting school for a year, even borrowed the money to pay for it, when I was 22. I headed out to L.A. with my homegirl (niece) Suzy when I was 24 and we got an apartment off Lankershim Blvd. and started learning the business. We worked as waitresses and had headshots taken and went shopping on Melrose Avenue. We danced at Whiskey-a-go-go and drove all over L.A. and stayed up until 4:00 am. Man, did I become a great waitress. We also saw a million concerts and went to the beach and had parties at our tiny apartment. I recommend this for everyone. It was fun. But I did not become a star. I was in a golf video with Jan Stephenson, Suzy and I were in a rock video with The Stray Cats, and we were each on a game show (me - concentration with Alex Trebeck, and Suzy - 10,000 Pyramid) where we each failed miserably. We did a little extra work here and there, but we never made it big. I never got to give my acceptance speech (damn) and we never got to party with the cast of Friends (damn). But it was a great time. I'm glad I tried. I have funny stories about auditions and casting directors and standing next to Farrah Fawcett at The Gap on Santa Monica. I'd rather fail at something than, years later, have wild remorse because I didn't give it a try.

I moved to Northern California after four years of L.A.. The brown sky worried me, and I was tired of waitressing. And honestly, I wasn't a very good actress. Not then. I was shy and unsure and had no voice of my own. I think I'd be kind of okay at it now, but now I have a small but wondrous home, a beautiful child who goes to a school I love, and sweet friends and a great family and a good man and a job at Starbucks. And I love to watch these award shows. I like to see what they wear and who they're with and what those girls are doing with their hair. I have my favorites. And I love to sit in a dark movie theater and watch the stars that do not wait tables anymore. I LOVE movies. I've seen a few good ones lately; The Wrestler, The Mysterious Case of Benjamin Button, Gran Torino, and two more that I can't think of right now because I've had two glasses of champagne. But I know I liked them when I saw them. I just love how movies can make you feel so much, and give you a real glimpse into other lives. Oh, and I just remembered that one of those other movies was Into The Wild. Dang, what was that other one... (okay, okay, I'll wrap it up). Anyway, thank you so much. Goodnight.

Recap. Partial.

I was going to do a recap of 2008, after being inspired by my friend Tyge's blog, but decided I should wait until 2009, So, instead I'm going to recap this day. I woke up at 8:11 am. I'll tell you, 8:00 am used to be EARLY for me, but now it's sleeping in. That's what happens when you grow up. I can remember the days of staying up until 5am and sleeping until 3 in the flipping afternoon. Okay, that was 20 years ago. But I do vaguely remember it. So, up by 8:15, check e-mails, read the paper, have coffee (Starbucks of course). I've been sick with a miserable cold the last 5 weeks (when I get a cold it just lingers FOREVER) and I've been taking Muscinex D and using my beloved netti pot. Basically, you fill this little mini ceramic watering can with warm salt water and lean over the sink and put the spout up your nose and tilt your head and the water RUNS THROUGH YOUR SINUSES AND OUT THE OTHER NOSTRIL. Yes, it's true. I like to do it when my son has friends over. Is that too much information? Anyhoo. it works. The first time I used it I thought I was going to drown. Moving on. Then, I got dressed in my UNIFORM and went to work at Starbucks. The ski resort is open here (btw, we got 3 feet of snow over the last two weeks) and people were flocking in to get a grande triple half caf 2 pump hazelnut 3 pump vanilla non fat soy latte. Really. I love my job but I get very confused. Then, after work, home. Changed clothes, got Jay, went to the post office, the bank, the shoe store (I got the most awesome boots for Christmas, and I'm not really a shoe girl so I needed someone to tell me what to do to keep them nice). Came home, got mail (still getting Christmas cards, still getting bills), unloaded dishwasher. Jay, B and I met some friends of mine for Mexican food. I really like being with a man I feel good about introducing to my friends. Sounds simple. Hasn't always worked. Came home, played Apples to Apples (I LOVE this game. Thanks Suzy), got Jay in bed, checked blogs (that's where I am now). My yearly recap will be 365 times this long. KIDDING.

Popcorn?

Watched "it's a Wonderful Life" last night. Great movie. Jay watched it for the first time. Went like this.....

Movie starts - Jay sitting at computer in kitchen, Come on! I say. It's starting. Strange ten year old boy noise coming from kitchen. Big sigh. Okay he says. Drags feet into living room Plops on couch. Pissed.

First fifteen minutes of movie - Fidgeting, Irritation. Visible longing glances at computer. More strange sighs and low grunting.

Thirty minutes in - Clarence appears. Zuzu. Jay's eyes stay on television. No more longing computer looks. Laughter. Interest.

Rest of movie - Focused. More laughter. Intent during the serious parts. Yay!

End of movie - That was good he says.

Today he said it again...That movie last night was really good. I want him to GET some things. Certain movies, some people, the concepts of compassion and honesty. Yeah, I know he's only ten. But he watched the whole movie and he liked it. Made my heart feel good. Great movie.

Catching up

Where does the time go?! I have a few things....

We're having a Holiday Art Sale and Open House! Lots of wonderful pottery, made by B (would you look at that gravy boat!?), and a few pieces of painted furniture, made by me. Plus, signed copies of my book and mulled wine and hot cider. See, I have been working! Aside from Starbucks I mean. I think I'm working harder now that I have since I owned the wine store. I work at Starbucks during the day, come home or teach my class, help Jay with homework, make dinner, and then paint furniture or write poems. E-mail me for directions if you're local and want the time, day and address.


And another thing....

I used to have a mini van. I was really proud of my mini van. It was roomy and fun and got good gas mileage. But, people made fun of the mini van. In a very general way, people make fun of mini vans. It's not "cool" to drive a mini van. It's like a frumpy car, the mini van. Well, I loved my mini van and I was still cool when I drove it. So there. Now, I'm running into the same type of stigma associated with the "Christmas letter." Yes, I write a Christmas letter. I do not expound on how wonderful my life is or how my son is a straight A student. I just catch people up. I send out 75 Christmas cards because I like to. Some are to friends of my parents who I've taken on the role of letter writer to (Yeah, an English teacher just wrote that sentence). I also have a dozen folks I only correspond with at Christmas...people I've known for a few decades and enjoy hearing from. If I had to write each person a letter saying the SAME FLIPPING THING, I'd be a wreck. So, I type up a good letter, make copies, and send them off, with a sentence or two of personal stuff. Am I being overly sensitive here? Anyway, I LOVE the Christmas letter. Here's an excerpt. And I include it because of Jay...

"Jay is ten now. He is playing lacrosse, learning the cello, and reading The Hardy Boys mystery books. Jay was elected class rep in his fifth grade class and is getting his first real taste of politics, and he’s still playing basketball on a regular basis. We have our share of arguments over homework, and exchanges about how many snacks are permissible in a single day, but he is a good boy and we have so much fun together. We spent several weeks in Kansas this summer, taking the train once, and driving while hauling a U-haul the other time. Blah blah blah"

It doesn't really say blah blah blah, I was just done with the excerpt. Now, this year, Jay read a copy of the letter before I sent it out. He REALLY got upset. I couldn't figure it out. Finally, he said, through tears, "take out that part about the arguing." Well, I didn't. It's MY letter. But I thought it was interesting how he wanted that part out of there. Boy, is he going to be mortified someday when he gets old enough to find my blog :)

And a final thing....

December 8th was the one year anniversary of my mom's death. It was an okay day really. I went back and read what was happening a year ago and I realized how relieved I felt when she finally went. How sad and alone I felt, but how much I wanted her to not be suffering anymore. I still think about her every day. I wish I dreamed about her more. Her death made me want to believe in that Sunday School kind of Heaven. The one where you meet all the people you loved again, looking the same as ever, all healed and complete. What a beautiful thought. I also have watched a few videos of her...from ten years ago when she was well and still vital. The mom I would see in that Sunday School Heaven. So, do this; take video. TAKE VIDEO. Or DVD I guess. But get the people you love on film. I still have her laugh and her voice. I have her holding Jay when he was one, and I have the day she filled the dishwasher with liquid dish soap instead of electric dish soap and it overflowed EVERYWHERE. That was when she was starting to get sick but we just didn't know. I have her in Kansas and Vegas and Phoenix, at Christmas and Easter. Because I took video, Jay, whose memory is more filled with the grandma with Alzheimer's, gets to remember her whole and complete. So if you can't decide what to get yourself for Christmas (because we ALL get ourselves something too), get a cheap video camera. It's so cool to hear her laugh, and it's so good to see her again.