Thursday, December 31, 2009

Simple Gifts


"What are you going to write about?" Is a common question on most nights in my house. Nearly every night the answer is, "I have no idea. I haven't sat down yet." I'd like to think that somehow I have been formulating ideas and writing paragraphs in my mind in between reading novels and watching PBS, but it just isn't the case. These days I often don't sit down to write until after 11pm. If novel reading ever preceded blog writing, blog writing would never happen, because I would be unconscious somewhere under a blanket buried in a pillow with the novel unceremoniously dumped from lap to floor. Tonight I will admit to watching a little PBS, because it was Thomas Hampson and the New York Philharmonic and Copland and Gershwin and Cole Porter. That in and of itself is an awesome combination, and worth taking a few minutes to sit and watch.




When the entire "Live from Lincoln Center" program repeated at 10 PM, I came in to write, but left the television on in the living room. A friend surfaced online and we chatted for a bit, and when she signed off, I looked at the clock. 11 PM. Must be time to write. But what to write?

When I don't know what to write, sometimes I'll check my email or catch up on my RSS feeds from various blogs. Looking through my Gmail reader, I remembered that TeenTuna told me she had posted on Christmas Eve and I still hadn't read it. So, late though it was, I thought I should, and I did.



So, with the New York Philharmonic blasting "Simple Gifts" (from Appalachian Spring) by Copland I clicked through to the last entry written by my fifteen year old daughter.  Here, in part, is what she wrote:

I didn't ask for much this Christmas, but found myself for the first year buying presents with my own money. Last night I had four of my closest friends come over for a Christmas bash where we watched movies for hours, exchanged gifts, and cuddled on the couch. That party, reminded me that I have the greatest friends anyone could ever ask for and that they mean the world to me.
2009 has had its fill of ups and downs but all those things have made me into a different and better person. When I look back on the year this is what I think of:
First, comes family. Family will always be important to me no matter what. Through 2009 my family has done so much to support me and I can't thank them enough for all that they do. I can always turn to family, when I can't go to friends. They are always there for me....
 Second, are the opportunities. This year I have participated in so many things that I enjoy doing....All of these things wouldn't be possibly without the support of my family and friends.
 Finally, are my friends....My closest friends have meant more to me this year than any other. I've known them for about two years and I feel like I've known them all my life. Its times like these when I think back to Elementary school and remember how much I wanted friends, and that they were only half an hour away.  They mean the world to me and I don't know what I would do without them.
This Christmas, I don't wish for anything big.....All I wish for and want for the new year is to be loved by my friends and family and to remind them that I am always here for them just like they are for me.


Leave it to the profoundly simple harmonies of Aaron Copland, the dance tune of the Shakers, the world of Elder Joseph Brackett and the wisdom of my teenage daughter to sum up those things that really matter in this world.  I'm humbled and grateful to be reminded that there is no better gift than to find ourselves in "the place just right."






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






Simple Gifts


"What are you going to write about?" Is a common question on most nights in my house. Nearly every night the answer is, "I have no idea. I haven't sat down yet." I'd like to think that somehow I have been formulating ideas and writing paragraphs in my mind in between reading novels and watching PBS, but it just isn't the case. These days I often don't sit down to write until after 11pm. If novel reading ever preceded blog writing, blog writing would never happen, because I would be unconscious somewhere under a blanket buried in a pillow with the novel unceremoniously dumped from lap to floor. Tonight I will admit to watching a little PBS, because it was Thomas Hampson and the New York Philharmonic and Copland and Gershwin and Cole Porter. That in and of itself is an awesome combination, and worth taking a few minutes to sit and watch.




When the entire "Live from Lincoln Center" program repeated at 10 PM, I came in to write, but left the television on in the living room. A friend surfaced online and we chatted for a bit, and when she signed off, I looked at the clock. 11 PM. Must be time to write. But what to write?

When I don't know what to write, sometimes I'll check my email or catch up on my RSS feeds from various blogs. Looking through my Gmail reader, I remembered that TeenTuna told me she had posted on Christmas Eve and I still hadn't read it. So, late though it was, I thought I should, and I did.



So, with the New York Philharmonic blasting "Simple Gifts" (from Appalachian Spring) by Copland I clicked through to the last entry written by my fifteen year old daughter.  Here, in part, is what she wrote:

I didn't ask for much this Christmas, but found myself for the first year buying presents with my own money. Last night I had four of my closest friends come over for a Christmas bash where we watched movies for hours, exchanged gifts, and cuddled on the couch. That party, reminded me that I have the greatest friends anyone could ever ask for and that they mean the world to me.
2009 has had its fill of ups and downs but all those things have made me into a different and better person. When I look back on the year this is what I think of:
First, comes family. Family will always be important to me no matter what. Through 2009 my family has done so much to support me and I can't thank them enough for all that they do. I can always turn to family, when I can't go to friends. They are always there for me....
 Second, are the opportunities. This year I have participated in so many things that I enjoy doing....All of these things wouldn't be possibly without the support of my family and friends.
 Finally, are my friends....My closest friends have meant more to me this year than any other. I've known them for about two years and I feel like I've known them all my life. Its times like these when I think back to Elementary school and remember how much I wanted friends, and that they were only half an hour away.  They mean the world to me and I don't know what I would do without them.
This Christmas, I don't wish for anything big.....All I wish for and want for the new year is to be loved by my friends and family and to remind them that I am always here for them just like they are for me.


Leave it to the profoundly simple harmonies of Aaron Copland, the dance tune of the Shakers, the world of Elder Joseph Brackett and the wisdom of my teenage daughter to sum up those things that really matter in this world.  I'm humbled and grateful to be reminded that there is no better gift than to find ourselves in "the place just right."






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






Wednesday, December 30, 2009

The Worst of Times, The Worst of Times


Tonight as I was driving home I heard a commentary on NPR stating that this decade that is about twenty-four hours from being over and done with, was, in a nutshell, the worst decade ever. It went on to list horrible thing after horrible thing, and to be honest...they were all horrible. Each and every one of them. And yet, despite the seemingly never ending laundry list of financial, political and social debacles on both a national and world-wide front, I was unconvinced.

Maybe it is my pig-headed resistance to label ANYTHING in the superlative. If you ask me, nothing is best. Nothing is worst. Nothing is favorite. The same goes for pretty, ugly, funny, disgusting, happy or sad. As far as I'm concerned there are plenty of candidates to go around in any category you could name, and to pick just one at the exclusion of all the other possibilities seems unfair.

No matter how lousy the last ten years were, I just can't seem to look at it as THE WORST ever.  Even as we pull away from the first decade of the 21st century and look in the rear-view mirror, it wasn't ALL bad. But sometimes it seems to take a little more time and a lot more work to remember the good stuff, because we get the bad stuff in multiple doses, all day, every day.  I'm not saying we should forget the hard times, the mistakes we have made and the losses we have suffered individually, as a country or throughout the world. I know there have been plenty, and probably more than one decade should bear.  But still in all, I'm not one for sackcloth and ashes, and I, for one, would rather learn and LIVE, than rage at the moon or hang my head in eternal shame.

Tomorrow night, when some will be bidding good riddance to bad rubbish, I am going to take a moment to gather together in my mind all those people that are important to me. Some are near. Some are far. Some are no longer here in body. But each and every one of them were and are and continue to be a real part of my life and my journey. So while others are anxiously kicking the decade to the curb, I'm going to gather my forces and with gratitude and remembrance for what came before, and love and hope for what is to come, walk with as much confidence and determination as I can possibly muster into the next decade.

Happy 2010.
I'm glad we're all here.

The Worst of Times, The Worst of Times


Tonight as I was driving home I heard a commentary on NPR stating that this decade that is about twenty-four hours from being over and done with, was, in a nutshell, the worst decade ever. It went on to list horrible thing after horrible thing, and to be honest...they were all horrible. Each and every one of them. And yet, despite the seemingly never ending laundry list of financial, political and social debacles on both a national and world-wide front, I was unconvinced.

Maybe it is my pig-headed resistance to label ANYTHING in the superlative. If you ask me, nothing is best. Nothing is worst. Nothing is favorite. The same goes for pretty, ugly, funny, disgusting, happy or sad. As far as I'm concerned there are plenty of candidates to go around in any category you could name, and to pick just one at the exclusion of all the other possibilities seems unfair.

No matter how lousy the last ten years were, I just can't seem to look at it as THE WORST ever.  Even as we pull away from the first decade of the 21st century and look in the rear-view mirror, it wasn't ALL bad. But sometimes it seems to take a little more time and a lot more work to remember the good stuff, because we get the bad stuff in multiple doses, all day, every day.  I'm not saying we should forget the hard times, the mistakes we have made and the losses we have suffered individually, as a country or throughout the world. I know there have been plenty, and probably more than one decade should bear.  But still in all, I'm not one for sackcloth and ashes, and I, for one, would rather learn and LIVE, than rage at the moon or hang my head in eternal shame.

Tomorrow night, when some will be bidding good riddance to bad rubbish, I am going to take a moment to gather together in my mind all those people that are important to me. Some are near. Some are far. Some are no longer here in body. But each and every one of them were and are and continue to be a real part of my life and my journey. So while others are anxiously kicking the decade to the curb, I'm going to gather my forces and with gratitude and remembrance for what came before, and love and hope for what is to come, walk with as much confidence and determination as I can possibly muster into the next decade.

Happy 2010.
I'm glad we're all here.

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Last Dance

When I was in High School a million years ago, there was one song that was always played as the "last dance" song. That song was "Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin. As soon as the solo guitar intro started, you knew you had better grab your best bet for the end of the dance, and it better be someone you liked, because at a whopping seven minutes, fifty eight seconds, it was a pretty serious commitment of time in close proximity. On the other hand, if you didn't have anyone to dance with on the downbeat, you could spend an extra 30-60 seconds finding an acceptable dance partner and still have plenty of cling time.

But as perfect as a last-song slow-dance-song that it was, there was always this one section where nobody ever quite knew what to do. About three-quarters of the way through the song, it gets loud and bangy and upbeat until the very end, when it slows down one last time. Thus the dilemma: was it a slow dance song or a fast dance song?  What was a teenager to do?

If you really liked your dance partner, you ignored the musical demands to break away and "fast dance" and instead you would cling like expensive Saran wrap until the bitter end. If you didn't like them as much, you might fast dance a bit, or laugh and act moronic (which we all did most of the time anyway) until it slowed down again. It offered a moment of levity, which was handy when necessary.

I don't know if there is a "last dance" song these days like there were in the days of yore. I don't even know if there is any hit song today that could come close to the length and slow dance tempo of "Stairway to Heaven." Even "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" pales at a measly six minutes, fourteen seconds. And who wants to dance to a song about a shipwreck (NOTE: Celine Dion's messy "My Heart Will Go On" does NOT count as a shipwreck song).

Despite its off-kilter moments of tempo and gusto, I always remember "Stairway to Heaven" as a sure thing in the unsure world of a teenager. And although my high school days are long gone, I just may find myself a copy of Stairway to Heaven and play it at about 11:52pm on New Year's Eve. It seems an appropriate ending to another year. Something long, slow and familiar to cling to, with a little bit of a kick thrown in towards the end to shake things up a bit. After all, life is never the same tempo. Last songs shouldn't be either.

Last Dance

When I was in High School a million years ago, there was one song that was always played as the "last dance" song. That song was "Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin. As soon as the solo guitar intro started, you knew you had better grab your best bet for the end of the dance, and it better be someone you liked, because at a whopping seven minutes, fifty eight seconds, it was a pretty serious commitment of time in close proximity. On the other hand, if you didn't have anyone to dance with on the downbeat, you could spend an extra 30-60 seconds finding an acceptable dance partner and still have plenty of cling time.

But as perfect as a last-song slow-dance-song that it was, there was always this one section where nobody ever quite knew what to do. About three-quarters of the way through the song, it gets loud and bangy and upbeat until the very end, when it slows down one last time. Thus the dilemma: was it a slow dance song or a fast dance song?  What was a teenager to do?

If you really liked your dance partner, you ignored the musical demands to break away and "fast dance" and instead you would cling like expensive Saran wrap until the bitter end. If you didn't like them as much, you might fast dance a bit, or laugh and act moronic (which we all did most of the time anyway) until it slowed down again. It offered a moment of levity, which was handy when necessary.

I don't know if there is a "last dance" song these days like there were in the days of yore. I don't even know if there is any hit song today that could come close to the length and slow dance tempo of "Stairway to Heaven." Even "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" pales at a measly six minutes, fourteen seconds. And who wants to dance to a song about a shipwreck (NOTE: Celine Dion's messy "My Heart Will Go On" does NOT count as a shipwreck song).

Despite its off-kilter moments of tempo and gusto, I always remember "Stairway to Heaven" as a sure thing in the unsure world of a teenager. And although my high school days are long gone, I just may find myself a copy of Stairway to Heaven and play it at about 11:52pm on New Year's Eve. It seems an appropriate ending to another year. Something long, slow and familiar to cling to, with a little bit of a kick thrown in towards the end to shake things up a bit. After all, life is never the same tempo. Last songs shouldn't be either.

Monday, December 28, 2009

Snowku

Raging, bitter winds
threaten the tranquility
of deep winter snow.





Single sapling branch
so strong in icy armor
cannot bend, and breaks.



See winter's beauty.
Look into the windswept drifts
snow angels dance there.



In the deepest cold
warmth and love can be found in
mugs of hot chocolate.





Snowku

Raging, bitter winds
threaten the tranquility
of deep winter snow.





Single sapling branch
so strong in icy armor
cannot bend, and breaks.



See winter's beauty.
Look into the windswept drifts
snow angels dance there.



In the deepest cold
warmth and love can be found in
mugs of hot chocolate.





Sunday, December 27, 2009

Lego Master

Today I was schooled in the art, construction and design of the world of Legos.
The master?
A FOUR YEAR OLD.


(No, he didn't build these)

So now, evidently, Legos are it and a bag of chips. Fabulous. I have built a house or two in my day. You know the kind: SQUARE. No, nothing more. Just square. Using square blocks. The bigger the better because they are easier to maneuver, and then you finish faster and you can do something else, like play a rousing game of Ker-PLUNK!




Today the Lego Master built oh, four or five vehicles. Not cars, not toys. VEHICLES. They all have specific names, unless he built them without any directions whatsoever, at which point they are "imagination cars." Yesterday he spent much of the day building this enormous Fire Station complex, complete with three attached garages (with garage doors that functioned), a radar system on the roof, a fire truck with a 3-part telescoping ladder, a fire chief truck, a tree, a cat (in the tree) and a LEGO COFFEE MAKER (for inside the fire station). There were three enormous instruction books, which are more helpful than having no instruction books, but really don't explain anything. There are pictures with each step, but you have to figure out which pieces they added in each subsequent step. They don't tell you, and there is no master list. Unsurprisingly, the age-range on this toy is 8-14 years old.




Did I mention that the Lego Master is FOUR?

Suddenly my whole "build a square structure" looks pretty lame. There are Lego pieces the size of a kernel of corn. Most are in varying shades of grey, but depending on the project, you might luck out and get a white, red, blue or green. And when these masterpieces are finished? The are unbelievable. How someone sits there and figures out how one might construct a Lego-Whatever is beyond me. I understand (kind of, in theory) how it looks on the outside. But it's the guts of the matter that is particularly confounding to me.



I'm not sure if this Rainman-like ability to whip up a Lego masterpiece with little to no help will continue to grow and thrive. We could be looking at the next Frank Lloyd Wright, award-winning architect or mechanical engineer. In the meantime, I'll stick to my Kindergarten-level Lego building skillz, because frankly, that's all I've got. Hopefully my ability to make my nephew laugh("You CWACK ME OUT!!) Will carry me through until he learns some other new skill which once again bypasses my own.


I'm pretty lousy at an Etch-a-Sketch as well.


 


Lego Master

Today I was schooled in the art, construction and design of the world of Legos.
The master?
A FOUR YEAR OLD.


(No, he didn't build these)

So now, evidently, Legos are it and a bag of chips. Fabulous. I have built a house or two in my day. You know the kind: SQUARE. No, nothing more. Just square. Using square blocks. The bigger the better because they are easier to maneuver, and then you finish faster and you can do something else, like play a rousing game of Ker-PLUNK!




Today the Lego Master built oh, four or five vehicles. Not cars, not toys. VEHICLES. They all have specific names, unless he built them without any directions whatsoever, at which point they are "imagination cars." Yesterday he spent much of the day building this enormous Fire Station complex, complete with three attached garages (with garage doors that functioned), a radar system on the roof, a fire truck with a 3-part telescoping ladder, a fire chief truck, a tree, a cat (in the tree) and a LEGO COFFEE MAKER (for inside the fire station). There were three enormous instruction books, which are more helpful than having no instruction books, but really don't explain anything. There are pictures with each step, but you have to figure out which pieces they added in each subsequent step. They don't tell you, and there is no master list. Unsurprisingly, the age-range on this toy is 8-14 years old.




Did I mention that the Lego Master is FOUR?

Suddenly my whole "build a square structure" looks pretty lame. There are Lego pieces the size of a kernel of corn. Most are in varying shades of grey, but depending on the project, you might luck out and get a white, red, blue or green. And when these masterpieces are finished? The are unbelievable. How someone sits there and figures out how one might construct a Lego-Whatever is beyond me. I understand (kind of, in theory) how it looks on the outside. But it's the guts of the matter that is particularly confounding to me.



I'm not sure if this Rainman-like ability to whip up a Lego masterpiece with little to no help will continue to grow and thrive. We could be looking at the next Frank Lloyd Wright, award-winning architect or mechanical engineer. In the meantime, I'll stick to my Kindergarten-level Lego building skillz, because frankly, that's all I've got. Hopefully my ability to make my nephew laugh("You CWACK ME OUT!!) Will carry me through until he learns some other new skill which once again bypasses my own.


I'm pretty lousy at an Etch-a-Sketch as well.


 


Saturday, December 26, 2009

A Holiday Thank You

Dear Pennsylvania,

You and I have had a rocky relationship in the past. Every time I think things are going smoothly, I arrive at your doorstep only to find otherwise. You used to be the cranky state, full of pointing fingers and dire warnings about driving ONE MILE over the speed limit. It was a little over the top, Pennsylvania, for you to be shaking your finger at me not 30 seconds after I knocked on your front door.

Your terrain has always been a bit challenging. It's not horrible, but after driving Ohio (Whose state mottos include: "We invented the COMA" and, "Flat enough for you?"), your state seems downright dangerous. You have mountains and tunnels and lots of twisty turny roads. Personally, I love them, As LONG AS.......

......the weather. OH THE WEATHER. Pennsylvania, can I just tell you openly and honestly, like a friend, that your weather absolutely BLOWS. I've endured fog, blinding snowstorms, driving rain, black ice, trucks trucks TRUCKS, and violent thunderstorms, to name a few. Add that to the twisty, turny, mountainous roads (see above) and you have the recipe for disaster. All that you need to make your toxic cocktail complete is a little....

....CONSTRUCTION. Holy cats, Pennsylvania. I get it that your roads are old. REALLY old. And I get it that construction in twisty turny mountain land is a challenge at best. But today your shoulders were so narrow they were non-existant. Heck, I think you may have lopped off an arm or two for good measure.

But today, Pennsylvania, it was as if you had had a personality transplant. You were supposed to be a rainy mess, and you were sunny blue skies. It was the end of December, and the roads were clear and dry. And tonight, as the sun was setting, you were just spectacular. You were blue and pink and orange with little whispy clouds settling into the valleys between the mountain ranges. It was downright beautiful and made for an absolutely lovely day of driving. You've managed to make up for a lot of your previous highway and byway sins. Please don't be a fickle friend. Show me that you can have two good dates back-to back. I'll swing by your house again in a few days.

Until then, fondly yours,

A Holiday Thank You

Dear Pennsylvania,

You and I have had a rocky relationship in the past. Every time I think things are going smoothly, I arrive at your doorstep only to find otherwise. You used to be the cranky state, full of pointing fingers and dire warnings about driving ONE MILE over the speed limit. It was a little over the top, Pennsylvania, for you to be shaking your finger at me not 30 seconds after I knocked on your front door.

Your terrain has always been a bit challenging. It's not horrible, but after driving Ohio (Whose state mottos include: "We invented the COMA" and, "Flat enough for you?"), your state seems downright dangerous. You have mountains and tunnels and lots of twisty turny roads. Personally, I love them, As LONG AS.......

......the weather. OH THE WEATHER. Pennsylvania, can I just tell you openly and honestly, like a friend, that your weather absolutely BLOWS. I've endured fog, blinding snowstorms, driving rain, black ice, trucks trucks TRUCKS, and violent thunderstorms, to name a few. Add that to the twisty, turny, mountainous roads (see above) and you have the recipe for disaster. All that you need to make your toxic cocktail complete is a little....

....CONSTRUCTION. Holy cats, Pennsylvania. I get it that your roads are old. REALLY old. And I get it that construction in twisty turny mountain land is a challenge at best. But today your shoulders were so narrow they were non-existant. Heck, I think you may have lopped off an arm or two for good measure.

But today, Pennsylvania, it was as if you had had a personality transplant. You were supposed to be a rainy mess, and you were sunny blue skies. It was the end of December, and the roads were clear and dry. And tonight, as the sun was setting, you were just spectacular. You were blue and pink and orange with little whispy clouds settling into the valleys between the mountain ranges. It was downright beautiful and made for an absolutely lovely day of driving. You've managed to make up for a lot of your previous highway and byway sins. Please don't be a fickle friend. Show me that you can have two good dates back-to back. I'll swing by your house again in a few days.

Until then, fondly yours,

Friday, December 25, 2009

Guest Stars

After a long Christmas Day, not to mention Christmas Eve, not to mention month of December, not to mention Autumn, not to mention year, I'm going to let someone else do the entertaining today.









Merry Christmas to all,
and to all a good night.

Guest Stars

After a long Christmas Day, not to mention Christmas Eve, not to mention month of December, not to mention Autumn, not to mention year, I'm going to let someone else do the entertaining today.









Merry Christmas to all,
and to all a good night.

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Wrapping it Up. Part One.


In the past I've been known to give "unusual" presents. From my brother's birthday "Big Bucket o' Testosterone" (A huge Home Depot Bucket filled with utter randomness -- batteries, toilet balls, paint brush, NAILS, duct tape and finally a gift card), to the infamous family "Brown Bag" Christmas I'm just never terribly thrilled with the ordinary.  There's nothing wrong with it.  It's just the on occasion, with a little bit of inspiration and random wackiness, I think I can do better.

I discovered today I was a little low on the small "stocking" presents we give everybody, so I dashed to the store for one last go-round.  I found things for my niece pretty quickly and was pleased with my choices.  But then I needed something for my nephew, and surprisingly I was stumped.  Nothing sounded quite "right" and I walked around the store for a bit, going over lists in my head and muttering in that kind of holiday Rainman kind of way.  I kept on trying to come up with something fun, maybe funny and definitely different.  As I stood in the aisle pondering, it suddenly hit me.  The perfect present.


I'm not going to tell you and I'm not even going to show you.  You'll have to come back tomorrow after the presents are opened to hear the rest of the story.  I think it will be fun, maybe funny and definitely different.

Like me. 

Wrapping it Up. Part One.


In the past I've been known to give "unusual" presents. From my brother's birthday "Big Bucket o' Testosterone" (A huge Home Depot Bucket filled with utter randomness -- batteries, toilet balls, paint brush, NAILS, duct tape and finally a gift card), to the infamous family "Brown Bag" Christmas I'm just never terribly thrilled with the ordinary.  There's nothing wrong with it.  It's just the on occasion, with a little bit of inspiration and random wackiness, I think I can do better.

I discovered today I was a little low on the small "stocking" presents we give everybody, so I dashed to the store for one last go-round.  I found things for my niece pretty quickly and was pleased with my choices.  But then I needed something for my nephew, and surprisingly I was stumped.  Nothing sounded quite "right" and I walked around the store for a bit, going over lists in my head and muttering in that kind of holiday Rainman kind of way.  I kept on trying to come up with something fun, maybe funny and definitely different.  As I stood in the aisle pondering, it suddenly hit me.  The perfect present.


I'm not going to tell you and I'm not even going to show you.  You'll have to come back tomorrow after the presents are opened to hear the rest of the story.  I think it will be fun, maybe funny and definitely different.

Like me.