Christmas Stays The Same

I am inundated with Christmas songs! Growing up with Frank and Bing and Ella and even Burl Ives singing songs of the season, they helped to shape my "music appreciation". But I like Buble and Barenaked Ladies and even the Chipmunks. Especially the Chipmunks! Music is the icing on the cake of the holiday. Hymns are hummed and jingles are jolly and my cd player in the car is on from the moment I climb behind the wheel to the destination and even just to sit in the garage and listen. 

A few years ago, I can't even remember where I heard it first, someone played the song, Christmas Stays the Same sung by Linda Eder. I liked her voice and I thought I kind of liked the lyrics, but I wasn't sure what they were. I had to look them up. The are below. You really can't appreciate the song unless you hear her sing it. Really. It just doesn't do justice to the lyrics until you hear her phrasing. It has become one of the most favorite of my Christmas songs. It makes me yearn for the days of baking in the kitchen with my mother and dancing with my father in the living room. It makes me want to be that kid again, just for a minute or two. Give it a listen if you get a chance. It's haunting!

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 and 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

Songs of the Season, Part I

Christmas songs play in my head almost all year long. There are certain songs that seem appropriate for almost any occasion. I'm not a singer, so those around me are not tortured with my vocal renderings of these songs. Jingle Bells pops up with alarming frequency in the strangest of circumstances (in a line of traffic, in a line at the grocery store, in fact any place I have to wait for a period of time). Most of these songs I have heard a bazillion times throughout my life. I recall as a child hearing on our little transistor radios a Christmas song or two interspersed with the rock n'roll stuff blaring in our ears constantly. Christmas Eve was the time when our dad would put on his radio station in the living room and we would be inundated with renditions of holiday favorites sung by Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby, Perry Como and the like. His radio station went 24 hours with Christmas songs and was only one of a few that did it. I even remember a TV station that showed a picture of a log perpetually burning in a fireplace as the holiday songs filled the airwaves. No commercials. It was amazing.

My husbands eclectic collection of holiday songs includes things from Dr. Demento with vocal renderings from the Three Stooges to Adam Sandler (and some Hanukkah songs as well--nothing is sacred to that man!). But songs like, "White Christmas", "The Holly and The Ivy", and yes, even "Jingle Bells" are still the ones I listen to again and again. My daughter has a lovely tradition she has started (and I hope continues, hint, hint) of creating compilations of holiday songs. It's a gift I look forward to every year as these CDs follow me in my car from place to place. They are varied and contain old and new artists, old and new songs, funny and serious. She has a lovely ear for music and weaves these treasures with a sure hand and good computer filled with thousands of songs. I usually pop in the one from the previous year (or sometimes more than a few years back) while traveling to stores and even to her house to refresh my memory of the tunes she's added or subtracted. Her selections fill my head (and heart) as soon as Thanksgiving draws near and well into January, I'm still playing them.

In the next few weeks, I hope to select some songs that bring the holidays into focus for me. I hope you will hum along with my words as I wander about the season.

A Difference in Temperature

I'm doing a first this weekend; I'm visiting my daughter overnight. I came down yesterday with bag in hand and a sense of anticipation. I haven't done this before in her new house. I was looking forward to hearing about her recent experiences camping with students and not having to rush home. We had a leisurely dinner, did a little shopping and came back to her place to watch the kitties have "Wrestlemania" , which they apparently do most nights. The weather was due to change overnight as a cold front was pushing through. My daughter, ever mindful of my propensity to freeze easily, loaded up my bed with not one but two quilts. When we went to bed, I was confident of being warm and cozy.  I woke up several times so warm I thought I was as done as a turkey on Thanksgiving. I rearranged the quilts and tried to go back to sleep. That's when I noticed how dark it was. Really dark. I'm used to street lights or even neighbors house lights. Not here. It was dark. And suddenly I felt cold. So I turned the light on and rearranged the quilts again. But now I wasn't sleepy. I grabbed my trusty iPad next to the bed and read for a while. I nodded off at some point and realized I was at 400 degrees again. I again, flipped the topmost quilt off and turned off the light and tried to sleep. It was really quiet out here. And did I mention dark? I lay there for a while staring at the window. I began to feel drowsy. I turned over and tucked my arms under the quilt, it was cold. Should I grab the other quilt again? At this point I think I was just too tired, so I drifted off to sleep dreaming of winter. My daughter and her husband like their house cooler than I am used to, but it was not artic by any means. I guess the blood just doesn't flood as fast or something.

I awoke earlier than she and watched the sun coming up over the trees which surround her backyard. It was a restful and pretty sight and I'm glad I was here in the morning to see it. Next time I think I'll bring long sleeved pjs with me and maybe a night light.

Menacing Mailbox

At what size does a spider become a menace? No, really, this is a real question. Yesterday there was an innocuous little arachnid on the pristine wall of the bathroom. Really small, like less than a millimeter-the whole thing, legs, body everything. I took the hair dryer I was blowing my hair with and turned it on him to blow him somewhere else, where I wouldn’t have to look at him. He didn’t creep me out. Didn’t make my flesh pop out in goosebumps. Nothing. I saw this same spider again this morning. Same thing. Now, I admit, there was a time when I would have handled this a little less calmly. I would have gone straight to the “smoosh” mode. But I’ve matured. I’ve come to not get hysterical just because something has 8 legs and is walking on the wall.

BUT, also this morning, I went out to retrieve the morning paper. Upon coming back to the front door, I realized that there was one of those gauzy spider webs on the mailbox attached to the wood next to the front door. It  has been there before and I keep knocking the web down with the broom and it keeps coming back. The mailman yesterday informed me he thought it was part of the Halloween decorations. It isn’t. I would never use even fake spider webs to decorate anything. It’s not in me, sorry. Anyway, seeing this creepy wispy web on the mailbox again and I began to make a pass with the paper picked up, you know, brushing it away again. But I was arrested with a sudden glimpse of a leg. One of eight. It was brown and significantly longer than the millimeter shortstuff in the bathroom. It was not a “daddy long legs” spider, which I don’t seem to have a problem with either. Nope, this was a junior tarantula. I stood stock still at the size of the thing. There was another leg visible as I got closer to the door. It seemed enormous. Those goosebumps I didn’t have with the guy in the bathroom, they leap all over me. This thing could eat me for breakfast I thought.

In all honesty, it could not. It would run away, right? It wouldn’t run up the broom handle (which I did see a spider do in one of those stupid documentaries about spiders—this kind lived in the jungle—not in suburbia). It wouldn’t jump out and attack me, right? But of course, it could. You know animals do protect their territory. It could come at me, menacingly.

So I’m left with the question. Why did the little one in the bathroom not bother me, but the gargantuan on the mailbox make me want to go to the back door to get back in the house rather than confront it? What size becomes menacing? I’d really like to know.

The autumn of my discontent

I really don't know what the matter is really. A general sense of life going by plodding as well as streaking--how is that possible? Each day I am done at work, I gratefully come home, put my feet  and play a few computer games and suddenly it's time for dinner, then clean up, then fussing with the next days wardrobe, then blissful sleep. Only to awaken the next morning to get ready for work, go there and begin the cycle again. It's not taxing, it's is sort of mind numbing. All of a sudden a week has passed! Plodding and streaking, see whatnI mean? I decided I needed a new hobby, something to occupy my mind. I began reading up about it and voila it was time to go to bed and then back to work, and, well, you get the idea. I'm still hoping for a new hobby or outlook or something. But right now? I'll just sit here and read or play a few games. It's not dinner time, yet, is it?

The Other Side

The above phrase can mean a host of things, can't it? It can mean the opposite of something, but usually said, "on the other hand." It has been used to mean the other side of life, or merely a side different from ours. It's a great balancing statement--looking at both sides of an issue can either bring clarity or confusion. I'm using it geographically today, though. I'm onthe other side of the country than my usual dwelling place. A place different from my everyday experiences. A place with a bunch of new circumstances and well, challenges. Adventures even! When we got here it was tiring, but exciting to see new places and see loved ones. The challenge comes in remembering all the things necessary now for the everyday-ness to seep into the new day, so we can enjoy everything on this other side.

Ther are medicines to take, foods to avoid, routines that are now a part of that life that we live on the "other side" that have to translate to the situations here and now. We didn't have to do that before. "The againg process" hubby is fond of calling it. Oh, well. I'll be posting more later, unless I get too busy from the Other Side.

Twenty Seven Years ago tomorrow

I developed a playlist not too long ago for my iPhone. It has some of my most favorite songs on it (and very few musical numbers, I might add). They are songs that make my feet tap and bring a smile to my face. Once I learned how to manipulate the music portion of the iPhone, I was ecstatic about being able to bring this music with me. I think I will post about some of the songs as I go along on this blog, but today I zeroed in on one of the songs that came up while listening. I was so flooded with memories of my son as an infant hearing that song, I almost couldn't see the keyboard. He's a young man now. Accomplished and smart. And living far away. Unless you have had children and had them move farther than a couple hours away, you really can't know that ache that assaults you from time to time. You long for them even though you know they are well fed, sheltered and surrounded by friends.

To get back to the song, though...picture if you will a mom with two kids. The little girl, a delight, really, as she loves life and everything she encounters, is out somewhere. Can't remember where, probably following the neighbor around peppering her with questions. This mom, me, is doing those things that mommies need to do throughout the day especially since there is another child who  is still an infant. He's probably a few months old, maybe 5 months, still in those little onesie things with feet and snaps. He is a different baby from the sister. He doesn't want to sleep very much. When walking him around he prefers to be face out instead of snuggled beneath the chin. He is not cranky as much as awake and aware of things.  He observes. He smiles and waves, if you wave first. The mommy is futzing around with things in the house when she decides she would like to listen to some music. She had purchased an album by John Denver and there are some good songs on it which might make the cleaning and other chores pass a little more quickly, so she puts on the album, listening sort of half way to the tunes. The little boy is fussy in his infant seat, so Mom picks him up to determine what the problem could be. He doesn't need to be changed, he burped after feeding so that can't be it. She begins the dialog with him as always, "what's going on, sweetie? What's the matter?" Except its not a dialog, since he can't talk. She faces him out the way he likes, but still he seems restless. She sits on the couch, bouncing him on her knee a little, thinking this will help. John Denver begins singing a song that sort of rocks along and is sort of "waltzy", has that 1,2,3 beat pause thing going on. She, on impulse, picks him up to dance, facing in this time. He fits so sweetly under her chin. His little hand clings to her fingers as she waltzes around the living room and soon, before the last strains of the song are done he has settled. He's not quite asleep, but so content (as is she) with their slow dance. The mom quickly turns off the music and places him in the crib for perhaps a few quiet minutes of sleep. But that dance is forever in her mind. And so is that music.

I have loved the song, "Cool and Green Shady" since that morning. And it brings back a few precious memory of a little boy and a mom who danced with her favorite little boy tucked on so gently under her chin.


Happy Birthday Son. Love you always.

Summertime

Think back, if you can to the days of childhood, when summer was endless. From the time school let out until the time you were fitted for pinching shoes and crinkly crinolines, the golden days were yours to master. Running, jumping, spitting, roller-skating, bike riding or laying in the grass and watching the bulbous clouds form make-believe animals, they were endless. Stretching out into the horizon like riding a wave of ribbon with no end to the spool. From the time you woke up in the morning, energized in a way that was impossible all the rest of the year, to the time you crashed back on the pillow; there were things to see, do, inspect, watch for hours at a time. Time was all we had to worry about. And there is the thing that eludes us as we, the adult have six million things to worry about during the summer and beyond. We don't have those endless days anymore. We have endless worries, problems, situations, concerns. They string along like beads on that endless ribbon we rode so carefree as children.

But we get blips now and then, wrinkles in the ribbon, in between the beads. Those nights of balmy, breezy, soft summer nights. When you laugh with friends, share a good bottle of wine or beer, listen to the katydids and for one chunk of time, just be. Eating ice cream (or frozen yogurt) and remember how it was to just enjoy the summer, on a nice summer night.

Retirement Day

We knew this day was coming. It had been planned for weeks and weeks and weeks. The replacement person is in place, the desk has been emptied of all of his traces. The pinging of the Blackberry will trouble his sleep no more. I tried to observe how he was taking his last day of work, since asking rarely evinces a response. He seemed the same as he always is. He did say it will be a shorter work day. After the exit interview there is no reason to stay. He is a practical man, when all is said and done. I took him to the train station this morning as I have done for the last five years and I will pick him up from there whenever he calls to tell me he's on the way. But it is the last day of this ritual for he and I.The funny thing is, even though it's his last day, the computer at home which notifies him of his emails is pinging away as if the world was on fire and he has the only water source. I'm hoping that the constant sound is actually the ringing of endorsements of what a fine man he is and the quality work he has done and he will be missed. I am sure he willed be missed for his sense of humor, his no-nonsense way of working and getting things done, his calmness in the face of a storm (or a bosses anger). I know all these things are true of my hubby. I'm hoping on the last day of employment at his current job, they will recognize and celebrate this about him as well.

I'm Hiding, I'm Hiding

The above is a first line from a children's poem I memorized a very long time ago. Recently, it was on the periphery of thought that hiding seems like a safe alternative to, we'll, just about everything.  As we were so forcefully reminded a couple of days ago, the world is a dangerous place. If we hide out, then no one can "get" us.

When I think of this "lock-down" mentality, it certainly has an appeal. No one can get in, so no one gets hurt. But see, life doesn't work like that. At least mine doesn't. I need to let people in--family, friends, the hurt and lonely. I see people that just need to know that someone--ANYONE--cares. And how do I just sit back and watch them think that?

I'm going to get up on my soapbox now, so you can change the channel anytime you'd like. I think we need to remind each other of the basic good. We get these big knocks on the head about he "bad" people, where's the dink on the head about the good people? We saw such goodness right after the explosions, as the paramedics rushed in, and the police helped out. But how come this caring, good stuff gets celebrated only in disasters? I think most people are walking around basically good. I think people are helping out all the time. Where's the headline about them?  Is it because its so commonplace we don't think it's extraordinary any more? No, it's because, I guess that this bad stuff is so wrong we can't believe it. Believing people are good is easier or something.

I'm not sure of the point I'm making here. I'm still processing my thoughts. But I don't think "I'm hiding, I'm hiding" is the way to go to deal with this.

You Never Know

You never can know who influences things or how things stick in someone else's brain. I had a delightful experience a while back when someone remembered that I used to host a "mother's group" at church. She said it helped her get out of the house and her own head some days. I didn't think it had much of an impact, but it did to someone.

One of the things I do at my work place is have one of those day by day calendars. Just a stock one. Nothing fancy or animated or even in color. But each day I put a quote on the space underneath the date. People visit my desk throughout the day for various reasons, but almost always someone sees that there is a quote there and they read it. Sometimes they get it, sometimes not. We have interesting conversations about the quotes and some who have visited come back later and tell me they read something else by the author and found them to be a) enlightening, b) not as erudite as the quote or c) somewhere in between. I usually don't pay attention to things like the summer solstice or Flag Day and just randomly put the quotes on the days in the order I either found them or like them. There is no rhyme or reason, just whimsy.

Now tomorrow I will go to a doctor and have a hearing test. It is beyond question, one of the things I most hate to do. Because it will not be a positive test. I'm sure of it. I have nerve deafness. It won't be cured, it won't get better. So each time I have a test it just reminds me that I have something I can't fix in me. Something that is not working that I can't bind up or put antiseptic on or anything else to make it go away. I come home grumpy from these tests ALWAYS. So as I sat at my desk today, readying it for tomorrow morning I looked at my calendar and flipped it over to tomorrow. And there was a quote from someone whom I admire. She is not flamboyant  in her writing or her lifestyle. But she wise and  warm and I found her on-line when my brother suggested I read her blogs. The quote for tomorrow reads:  "Attitude is the only thing you can control. You have a choice every morning when you wake up. That's a gift."

She wrote that after getting shot. Read that again, please. She wrote that after getting shot in Arizona, holding a little girls hand. She is telling me (and by extension everyone who reads her) that I can control my attitude. I may not be able to fix that test result. Or even my ears. But how I react to those things, that's up to me. I can control that. I don't have to whine or cry or beat my chest. I can accept the results whatever they may be with an attitude that suggests this isn't the sum total of who I am. And I can decide that when I wake up tomorrow, it won't matter whether its raining or sunny. Because my attitude will decide the day.

Thanks A/B for the advice, for the wise counsel and for blogging so diligently. I am grateful for your words and your humor and your influence in what otherwise can be a day of regrets.

I Was Done With This...

I had some basal cell cancer removed from my face a few months ago. Lots of people get basal cell, I'm told. Lots of people get it cut out and move on. I've blogged about my experience to some small degree. I had moved on, I thought. It was history. No need to revisit.

Then I went to the dermatologist for a "follow-up". Alright, I was feeling kind of cocky. I thought it  had healed just fine. I thought she would look at me and say, "see you in 6 months." Yeah, well, that was the plan. As it turns out she did not just say, "see you in six months," although she did say that. What she did say was, " I don't like the way that looks," pointing to my scar. She said it should have been flat, but there were little bumps on it instead. They shouldn't have been there. What did I know? I thought it looked fine. So she "numbed" up the area and scraped the bumps off. "We'll send these out for a biopsy." And just like that I'm paranoid all over again. The one word, well, two really--biopsy and cancer--make me weak in the knees. I hear it and think I need to begin planning the funeral service, getting rid of my stuff, contacting the family. I don't like the fact that I feel that way, but there you have it.

The dermatologist called last night to say that the "bumps" were "pre-cancerous." Meaning before cancer. Meaning whatever she cut out of my face before, wasn't the same stuff that's there now. After I talked to her, I really didn't feel anything very much. It's only now the day after that I begin to get the weak in the knees feeling again. The same scurrying in my stomach as I had before wondering what all this will mean. The same "boy-I-don't-want-to-think-about-this" attitude pervading my every thought anyway.

I have friends who have fought a much more scary cancer than this. I have friends who have fought and lost, too. On the scale of 1 to 10 (10 being the scariest), this is probably a 1 compared to major organs. But oh, it still makes me quivery and nervous, even if no one else thinks this is all that bad. And therein lies the rub. I don't want to have anything wrong. Especially not cancer. I really appreciate others saying, well if you're going to get it, this is the kind to get. Making me feel almost like I should be grateful instead of scared. Comforted instead of nervous. I guess that makes me a wimp. I guess that makes me not very brave. Well, it's good to know things about yourself I guess. And I guess knowing that I'm a weakling can help to make me stronger, but I doubt it.

So for now, I have to get some special cream medicine and use it for a few weeks to see what happens next. I really wish nothing happened next. I wish I could erase the phone call from last night, but I can't . Pardon me if I don't look happy for now. But I thought I was done...

Some Snow

Just a little, thank goodness. Not a lot.
Melting already, dripping over eaves
Plonking on sky lights.
Sun shining off the white
Makes sunglasses a necessity.
People sighing relief, no more running
For bread, milk, gas, candles.
We're stocked up for the next one!
Except the supermarkets are bare.
I'm finishing up my writings today
Brushing off the dictionary, the Strunk and Whites
Clacking keys in the warmth of the sun and
Radiators.
Pulling words out of air and fuzzy brains,
Wrapped in the snug sack
Around my feet
Listening to the water drip
Finding ways to write what I see and hear
While the sun shines off the white.