I want to write about my brothers. Not just because I love them, as I hope they are aware. I want you to know something about them because they are wonderful men and the world would be less if they were not here.
My older brother shares an awful lot of things with me in terms of hearing deficiencies, tastes in books, slow but determined understanding of a problem and dry humor. He is kind. His writing style is packed. Packed with eloquent descriptions and touching humaneness. He wanders about here and there in his writings, but I can follow his tracks and not get lost in the prose. His love and kindnesses flow through his life, his writing and his laughter. I am always enriched with his conversations which are never enough and his e-mails which are infrequent due to his busy schedules.
My younger brother shares a lot of things with me too. We are the two younger siblings, the "sweetie twins" dubbed by the older pair. Partners in play and laughter, we can find joy in music, books, buildings, flowers and each other. He hasn't had much time lately to get to the sweet spot of joy, but he knows its there in his undulating laugh and that sparkle in his "dad" laden eyes. His creativity and vision is so impressive to me. He may not write for a living(although he could--he is excellent with words), but the eloquence he uses with lines and angles speaks entire libraries. He is also full of love and kindness and compassion. We don't talk much either, he is so very busy treading these days. But when we do, we are sitting out back of the old house once again, watching clouds and making observations and I'm home again.
I spoke with them both yesterday--a very rare occurrence and I was reminded that though we share roots and a past, we also have a friendship in the present and future. There are so many strands of our lives which intertwine with each other, that make each other more than what we would be alone. I could not be who I am with others without my brothers. And I think that is a very good thing.
So Happy Brother's Day, guys. Love ya.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
Happy Birthday
It's not my birthday. I'm sure it's somebody's birthday somewhere, but not mine. I was thinking of birthdays today though as the youngest will be celebrating 23 years of existence next week. I was thinking of birthdays past, both mine and the children's.
Remember how it was for your birthday? The excitement of, the anticipation of, the list-making, plan making, totally involvement of the birthday. Some birthdays were bigger than others. Not necessarily the age, but the experience. The "wish list" for your birthday was excelled only by the ginormous list you made for Christmas. There were always the exotic requests (gold earrings? cowboy boots?)alongside the "sure to receives" like underwear or socks. Somewhere in between was the reality.
In our house as a child, you got to have your choice for dinner and dessert. I remember the dessert part most. Chocolate cake with vanilla icing? Vanilla cake with chocolate icing? Mint chocolate chip ice cream? You name it, it was yours.
I tried to hold onto that tradition with our children as long as I could, but the allure of "eating out" overtook us. Alas, we go out to eat either due to my culinary skills (or lack of) or the excitement of the varied menu, never available no matter how many times you asked.
Birthdays were made for dreaming. They made you think bigger, older, more grandiose dreams than the everyday ones. Maybe this year you would go horseback riding? Or the party could be somewhere other than your house (now I know that today, the party is almost ALWAYS someplace other than your house, but in the Old Days, they were never anywhere else.) Maybe you would get money to buy the newest record, or a new outfit or that boy you liked would give you a ring! The possibilities were endless.
I still look forward to birthdays, because I still wish on them like the candles on the cake. But I wish for different things now: happiness for my children, long life for my siblings and mother, health for my husband. It's still fun to dream.
So Happy Birthday to you!
Remember how it was for your birthday? The excitement of, the anticipation of, the list-making, plan making, totally involvement of the birthday. Some birthdays were bigger than others. Not necessarily the age, but the experience. The "wish list" for your birthday was excelled only by the ginormous list you made for Christmas. There were always the exotic requests (gold earrings? cowboy boots?)alongside the "sure to receives" like underwear or socks. Somewhere in between was the reality.
In our house as a child, you got to have your choice for dinner and dessert. I remember the dessert part most. Chocolate cake with vanilla icing? Vanilla cake with chocolate icing? Mint chocolate chip ice cream? You name it, it was yours.
I tried to hold onto that tradition with our children as long as I could, but the allure of "eating out" overtook us. Alas, we go out to eat either due to my culinary skills (or lack of) or the excitement of the varied menu, never available no matter how many times you asked.
Birthdays were made for dreaming. They made you think bigger, older, more grandiose dreams than the everyday ones. Maybe this year you would go horseback riding? Or the party could be somewhere other than your house (now I know that today, the party is almost ALWAYS someplace other than your house, but in the Old Days, they were never anywhere else.) Maybe you would get money to buy the newest record, or a new outfit or that boy you liked would give you a ring! The possibilities were endless.
I still look forward to birthdays, because I still wish on them like the candles on the cake. But I wish for different things now: happiness for my children, long life for my siblings and mother, health for my husband. It's still fun to dream.
So Happy Birthday to you!
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
Being of two minds
The ambivalence of the season following the season is confusing
Would the Wise Men have stopped to converse with us about our confusion?
The "Thank God its over" conundrum with the "It's over already?"
The pinging of the evergreen needles is counterpointed with the ticking of the clock
The false candles in the window reminding us of the need for light at 4:30
The sweets festooning the dining room table are far outweighed at the scales in the bathroom
Red and green poinsettias stand amidst the other greenery
Ostentatiously preening in the window as the philodendron snickers silently,
"It won't be long," it whispers, "you'll be just green like the rest of us."
The fireplace, never used except during this time of year, goes dormant, sullenly
hoarding it's heaped up piles of ashes for another winter.
The wreaths on the door, the festive flag flapping on the winter breeze, even the electric wooden tree, painted to resemble the evergreen in the corner will all soon fold themselves up for a long winter's nap.
The bareness of the walls, floors and doors a testament to the fleeting of seasons and the march of the hours.
Are you sad or glad it's done? It's hard to say, being of two minds.
Would the Wise Men have stopped to converse with us about our confusion?
The "Thank God its over" conundrum with the "It's over already?"
The pinging of the evergreen needles is counterpointed with the ticking of the clock
The false candles in the window reminding us of the need for light at 4:30
The sweets festooning the dining room table are far outweighed at the scales in the bathroom
Red and green poinsettias stand amidst the other greenery
Ostentatiously preening in the window as the philodendron snickers silently,
"It won't be long," it whispers, "you'll be just green like the rest of us."
The fireplace, never used except during this time of year, goes dormant, sullenly
hoarding it's heaped up piles of ashes for another winter.
The wreaths on the door, the festive flag flapping on the winter breeze, even the electric wooden tree, painted to resemble the evergreen in the corner will all soon fold themselves up for a long winter's nap.
The bareness of the walls, floors and doors a testament to the fleeting of seasons and the march of the hours.
Are you sad or glad it's done? It's hard to say, being of two minds.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Frosted Pindowanes
The words to holiday songs are one of the reasons I sing them, even though I have been informed by numerous friends (and family, too) that I'm off key. I really do love to sing songs at this time of the year. When I hear the words to "I'll Be Home for Christmas", it reminds me of my father who said the servicemen hated this song when they were overseas in WWII because they knew they wouldn't be. The words to "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" seem like they are fine and upbeat until you hear the haunting melody which tells you that perhaps the singer isn't so thrilled with the holiday this year. The Chipmunks sang a variety of songs from a few albums, but "Hang Up Your Stocking" is the one that makes me think of my older brother, bobbing his head along to the chorus. My daughter makes a mix CD every year of Christmas songs for me and this year in the collection was "Do You Hear What I Hear?" sung by a male group interspersed with Baba O'Reilly. It was fantastic! I've played that over and over until my husband shuffles quietly out of the room, mumbling something.
Before my daughter made mix CDs though, I made a couple myself. The one that seems to be the family staple (or the one they either love or detest the most, I suppose) has a compilation of some standard favorites sung by Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Johnny Mathis and the Muppets (from a Muppet Christmas Carol). It is the one I hide after the holidays so that I can bring it out around November each year and play it repeatedly before the new CD is received. I can sing along to every single one of those songs. A few years ago, I added a song to the repertoire, "Christmas Stays The Same." It was a version sung by Linda Eder-I think that's how you spell her name. And when I finally learned the lyrics, I decided that this was my new favorite Christmas song.
Here are the words:
Santa Claus and mistletoe,
Carols by the fire
Send a card and spread a little Christmas cheer.
Silent night, a fall of snow
Listen to the choir,
Everyone is happy that it's here.
For we all remember, some past December
Of tinsel and holly and people we love.
Put the angel on the tree then enjoy the view.
Wait until the children are asleep and then
Put together all the toys,
Hide a gift or two
Wishing you were just a kid again.
For we all remember, some past December
Of train sets that whistled and dolls we could name.
Oh the years may change
But Christmas stays the same.
Turkey and gravy,
Hams full of honey
Cousins you see once a year,
Fathers who scold you,
Then slip you some money
And roofs full of tiny reindeer.
Yes we all remember some past December;
Of grandmas and kitchens with kettles aflame.
Oh the years may change
But Christmas stays the same
Of course the music is lilting and wonderful and I get all misted up at the last, "Yes, we all remember some past December," because each and every time I remember all those Christmases ago, from long past and recent past and they blend together in one giant Christmas carol. It's sung in harmony and slightly off key, but it couldn't be any more beautiful than the angels that first Christmas in my mind.
Before my daughter made mix CDs though, I made a couple myself. The one that seems to be the family staple (or the one they either love or detest the most, I suppose) has a compilation of some standard favorites sung by Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Johnny Mathis and the Muppets (from a Muppet Christmas Carol). It is the one I hide after the holidays so that I can bring it out around November each year and play it repeatedly before the new CD is received. I can sing along to every single one of those songs. A few years ago, I added a song to the repertoire, "Christmas Stays The Same." It was a version sung by Linda Eder-I think that's how you spell her name. And when I finally learned the lyrics, I decided that this was my new favorite Christmas song.
Here are the words:
Santa Claus and mistletoe,
Carols by the fire
Send a card and spread a little Christmas cheer.
Silent night, a fall of snow
Listen to the choir,
Everyone is happy that it's here.
For we all remember, some past December
Of tinsel and holly and people we love.
Put the angel on the tree then enjoy the view.
Wait until the children are asleep and then
Put together all the toys,
Hide a gift or two
Wishing you were just a kid again.
For we all remember, some past December
Of train sets that whistled and dolls we could name.
Oh the years may change
But Christmas stays the same.
Turkey and gravy,
Hams full of honey
Cousins you see once a year,
Fathers who scold you,
Then slip you some money
And roofs full of tiny reindeer.
Yes we all remember some past December;
Of grandmas and kitchens with kettles aflame.
Oh the years may change
But Christmas stays the same
Of course the music is lilting and wonderful and I get all misted up at the last, "Yes, we all remember some past December," because each and every time I remember all those Christmases ago, from long past and recent past and they blend together in one giant Christmas carol. It's sung in harmony and slightly off key, but it couldn't be any more beautiful than the angels that first Christmas in my mind.
Its That Time of Year
I awoke this morning, the first day of the New Year, in pretty much the same funk I've woken up to for the last umpty-ump years. This year was just slightly, well, funkier. The house is still festive--can't take down the Nativity scene until at least the Wise Men make their entrance. And the stockings are still hung by the chimney with care. But Santa has come and gone and so have the children.
And there it is, ladies and gentlemen. The house is so quiet. The cat is sleeping--well there's really nothing noteworthy there, the cat is always sleeping. The gifts have all been put away. The good china is back in the hutch until the next family event. There are scads of cookies still to be eaten, candy in the candy dish and gift breads still on the counter in the kitchen. There are empty boxes still on the hearth from the youngest. He took the contents and left too quickly to my mind, to go back to warmer climes, chummier company, and a schedule in retail that forbids family time. Oh, that was so unfair of me, I think. By now, if he and his sister were still under the roof, most of the goodies would be gone, consumed by the constantly grazing hordes that come with those two. I look around at the snowmen decorations, the angels, the little stuffed teddy bears I put in some people's stockings and think to myself that even though I knew it would be over sooner this year, I didn't really know it. But now I do. I'm re-reading about 4 books at once, playing more inane computer games and putzing around the house trying to stay away from the West Wing collection that someone loaned me so I won't stay wrapped up in the blanket all day, feeling fuzzy and not of this world. I probably need to get back to work so I can stop thinking. But what can I do to stop feeling? That my friend is what makes it the hardest time of the year.
And there it is, ladies and gentlemen. The house is so quiet. The cat is sleeping--well there's really nothing noteworthy there, the cat is always sleeping. The gifts have all been put away. The good china is back in the hutch until the next family event. There are scads of cookies still to be eaten, candy in the candy dish and gift breads still on the counter in the kitchen. There are empty boxes still on the hearth from the youngest. He took the contents and left too quickly to my mind, to go back to warmer climes, chummier company, and a schedule in retail that forbids family time. Oh, that was so unfair of me, I think. By now, if he and his sister were still under the roof, most of the goodies would be gone, consumed by the constantly grazing hordes that come with those two. I look around at the snowmen decorations, the angels, the little stuffed teddy bears I put in some people's stockings and think to myself that even though I knew it would be over sooner this year, I didn't really know it. But now I do. I'm re-reading about 4 books at once, playing more inane computer games and putzing around the house trying to stay away from the West Wing collection that someone loaned me so I won't stay wrapped up in the blanket all day, feeling fuzzy and not of this world. I probably need to get back to work so I can stop thinking. But what can I do to stop feeling? That my friend is what makes it the hardest time of the year.
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