Life is a Banquet

Gift of the Magi

The bad: Santa brought me the flu as an early Christmas present (This is what I get for skipping the shot this year. PSA: The shots really work.) So I've spent four days huddled on couch and bed, watching bad TV and filling two legal pads with scenes for the WIP (to be typed later). 

The really bad: Why, you might ask, was my beloved laptop appendage not in bed with me? It broke. Kaput. Blue screen of death squealing into the night. Kidneys will be sold to get new one.

The sweet: This was a very broke Christmas at Chez Wavybrains. It was very UnChristmas thanks to the flu as well--no soup, no brunch, no cookies.  But, Freak saved Christmas. He saw me admire a bag that my friend had made for a craft show. Unbeknown to me, he traded her one of his beloved Roombas (from the refurbished programming fleet) for the bag. I could not be more touched if he really DID sell a kidney for me. Oh and the bag is kickass too.

The also sweet: Amidst all my crying about missing my family on Christmas, my brothers and my mother took pictures of their Christmas eve, and sent them to me so that I'd feel like I was there. I, of course, cried harder with the sweetness of it. 

The funny: My brothers have blog aversion so I can't show you the pictures of this one. But, trust me, it's even funnier than it sounds. What do you get a broke college student for Christmas? Money is the logical choice.  But, older brother Monkey thought that was too BORING to give younger brother Mattydog.  Instead, he emerged Christmas morning, in full mafia gear: Trench coat, suit/tie, sunglasses, toy guns, and a briefcase.  Mattydog opened the briefcase at "gunpoint." The contents: overflowing monopoly money disguising $50 in singles that Mattydog had to dig for.  If you know these two, the mafia reference is also an in-joke to their favorite pastime: Turning their SIMS neighborhood into a festering comic Sopranos episode. 

Hope your Christmas was better, but just as sweet and funny!

Our Christmas Letter

Somehow, I sat down to write the usual, "Freak got a new job, Wavybrains broke her foot, tidings of great joy to you and yours." But, instead, this is what came out:

    “Excuse me, Santa, sir, did you see the Christmas letter from the Gabbert family this year?” Fergus struggled to match Santa’s wide strides.  A size three elf shoe could only move so fast on packed snow.
    “The who?” Santa’s red face didn’t look so jolly as he turned towards Fergus. “Oh them. Lump of coal again.”
    Fergus reminded himself not to cower in the face of Santa’s bluster. “But, Santa, Kevin got a new job. He’s working for the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife.”
    “Send him a pair of hip waders then.”
    “Not that kind of job. He’s working as a programmer. And he programs robots as a hobby too! His code appeared in the book, Hacking Roomba.”
    “He has six robotic vacuum cleaners in various stages of repair, and you seriously think--“
    “And he took Spanish and computer illustration classes--“
    “Fergus. I’ve got a back order of Etch-a-sketches to deal with. Just spit it out. What does Kevin want this year?”
    Fergus shrank back into the pine needles. “A nap.”
    Santa’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “Well then. Grab one from The Hall of Overworked Remedies and toss it on the sleigh.”
    That taken care of, Santa doubled his pace towards Factory E.
    “Santa,” Fergus wheezed as he jogged to keep up.
    “Are you still here?”
    “It’s about Bethany--Mrs. Cunningham Gabbert, Sir--“
    “Hmmpf.” Santa didn’t slow down.
    “She taught as an adjunct professor--“
    “We make those in Building A with the other puppets,” Santa interrupted.
    “She finished her second novel--“
    “Form rejection letters are found in The Hall of Thankless Endeavors.”
    “She’s knitted non-stop this year. She finished--“
    “Offer her a job in Wardrobe. Blitzen and Comet could use new earmuffs.”
    “She’s active on Library Board and with her writing groups. She went on two writing retreats--“
    Santa stopped suddenly and Fergus crashed into his middle. “Bowl full of jelly, my pointy ears,” Fergus thought. “More like bowl of concrete.” He rubbed his head.
    “Sorry, Sir. My apologies.”
    “Fergus,” Santa lectured. “Do you know how many other tasks I have to handle before the 24th. Get to the point.”
    “She broke her foot in September. She’d like to be cast free in 2007.”
    “What am I? A doctor now too? Add a pair of pink crutches to the sleigh.”
    They finally reached the factory doors. “Santa?” Fergus’s voice cracked.
    “Tell me we’re done with the Gabbert’s,” Santa ordered.
    “Caylis learned to play soccer. She’s outgrown the puppy crazies.”
    “Busy bones. Next.”
    “Mungy mainly hangs out with the dog, but Mingy’s turned out to be a first-rate mouser.”
    Santa smiled broadly. “Well finally. Someone in that house is earning their keep.”
    And with that Santa was gone in a wink. “Next year, Dweezil the three-eared elf can handle the Gabbert’s,” Fergus resolved.

Grown Up Child

Clanna left to return home today. I'm missing her so desperately right now, that I wonder why anyone chooses to live so far from all family, or more specifically, what possessed me to do so.  I don't miss the Midwest at all, but I miss my family with an intensity that surprises me, that continues to blow harsh winds of depression through major holidays and personal crisis.  I thought being here would be enough to counterbalance them being there.  In the three years that I've been here, I've nurtured a silly little fantasy that my mother would come, and fall madly in love with Oregon, running Julie Andrew's style down the mountain. She was not impressed. She was however, impressed with my house, our life, and it felt like for the first time, we were true equals--her being a guest in my house tipped the balance of power in a new way that allowed us to establish healthier ways of interacting as adults. It was over far too quickly, as most visits are.  As she left today, I was struck with crushing waves of sadness as the slim likelihood of her moving here, me moving there (no chance), and us seeing each other more than twice in three years converged to leave me a weepy mess.  I wish it were easier, this being a grown-up child business. 

Others who live far from family, tell me your tricks.  Does it get any easier?

If you see us coming . . .

Clanna and I should never be unleashed on the average retail environment at the same time. Clanna arrived on Tuesday.  Having my mom here feels strangely natural, like she's both always and never been here at the same time.  It's also like traveling back in time at light speed to our marathon Wal-mart sprees growing up, to the endless bargain chase we pick up and resume from store to store, year to year.  Being house-bound for the last week, being out in the world again felt slightly overwhelming.  I crashed out at TJ Maxx, scoring only a new collection of brightly colored socks to accent the cast of doom.

Today, though we hit our stride.  We tackled Target like a pair of sniper shooters. We were prepared, we ate beforehand, we made our list, and we were armed with $50 gift card to burn.  Our scores included:

Fabulous Ginormous Striped Towel (destined for craft project): 6 dollars (was $15)
Middle Eastern Inspired PJs to accomodate cast of doom: 12 dollars (Was $25)
Planner for Time Challenged Brother: 2 dollars (was  $7)
Bronze Reading Lamp for my Residency on the couch: 22 dollars (was $90!!!!!!!)
Bones for best doggie in the world: $4 (was $8)
Big cushy socks $5 for 4 pairs (was $9)
Doormat $4 (was $12)
Travel mug $4 (was $9)

The best part though was once we graduated from small teeny hand basket (riding on my lap) to regular cart. Clanna had the brilliant idea that I could rest my legs on the cart, and steer from the chair while she pushed me, saving my arms. We were this train of overflowing cart, wheelchair, and two manic, bargain driven women, narrowly missing small children and bewildered shoppers. The cashier had to contain her laughter at our arrival as we sorted out our purchases.

But, hey, we spaved more than we spent! It was a good day. 

Post-Yule Slump

It seems as though most of the blogosphere is in a big slump, so I will work on not feeling so guilty about not blogging. But, of course, I am a woman DRIVEN by guilt, so this really isn’t helping. It doesn’t matter that SHE hasn’t posted for a good six months or that even the legendary her and the fabulous Ms. Fish have off months—the guilt it consumes me. 

 

My excuses which sound lame even to me:

1) Christmas. I gave over 50 presents, made about 2/3 of them myself, and wrapped them all in matching paper and mailed 5 boxes off to points east. Glutton for punishment. See the flickr pics for all the gory and crafty details. 

2) SAD. Winter, so very, very gray. I am a small, unhappy hobbit in my beloved hobbit hole hoping against hope for spring. Right now, I’m thinking of doing an Island Paradise living room makeover to help bring some LIGHT back into my life. Tell me what you think: 

These Blinds: 
Cost: (2 big, 2 small) $34 + 30 dollars shipping= $64

Topped with white valances made with material left from the bedroom project. 

Then add These slipcovers:


Cost: $25 each x 2 = $50

And Sherwin Williams Daffodil Paint (SW 6901)—about $30. Total makeover cost = $150. Not bad huh???? 

3) Work. I’m in the middle of launching my own business to ensure that I get to keep writing AND eating. Unfortunately, this really isn’t something I can blog about here. Suffice it to say that I’m actually going to USE my law degree. At least until the big bucks (ha ha ha ha ha) from writing start rolling in. But, in the meantime, I’ve been drowning in article deadlines and other boring crap. 

4) Life. Life is being lived on a grand scale here these days—lazy evenings watching enterprise with Freak, crocheting marathons, trying to assemble some facsimile of a social life . . . . . Life being lived further away from the clutches of my laptop. Egads. 

 

Life promises to stay busy, but I’ve got some year-end/year-ahead reflecting to do, so stay tuned! 

Where the heart is

Day two of recovery from my NY vacation and I suppose a blog update is long overdue. Despite so much on my mind, so much to think about, write about, my blogging mojo seems to have left me. But, there are things I want to remember, little notes to myself that I don’t want to forget like so many unwritten thank-you notes. If this blog is a record of this time in my life there are things that I want to remember. Just as absence makes the heart grow fonder, so also does it make the mind grow clearer. Here are few basic truths I have re-discovered during my little sojourn. 

Who wears the Hat in this Family

The big guy is out of the hospital now.  Finally.  In terms of what's wrong, we still know very little.  His overall neurological condition seems to be degenerating--and that's about the best diagnosis we've got at the moment.  It may turn out to be some syndrome or other eventually, but for the moment, he's still the same Dad he's always been.  Unlabeled. 

Which is probably the way  it ought to be right now.  It's funny how labels and declarations can totally change how you think about yourself--even when your overall  physical condition stays the same.  I know my self-perception changed drastically when I was told I had MS, then shifted radically again when I was told that it was diabetes---and my day-to-day condition has largely stayed the same through out this period of time.  But labels have a definite impact on how we see our condition, how we treat it, and how we move forward. 

And so it is for the big guy.  He acted differently when the medical powers that be thought it was a heart problem.  You could hear the resignation in his voice, sense the downward spiral in his mood.  Now, he's upbeat to be home, and while he's frustrated beyond measure that  "they" can't figure out exactly what's wrong with him, he's also on familiar territory. 

Right now, he's just grateful to be home, so he's not putting up too big a fuss about Physical Therapy and the fact that a return date to work is still up in the air.  The 10+ days in the hospital have made him a humbler man.  Very hard to explain, but its as if an awareness of his own mortality, has caused a gratitude shift in his being.  And he says thank you more, and I love you, and I miss you, and I appreciate you, lots more.  And this is wonderful.

I'm sorry that he had to go through the hospital to get more comfortable with his emotions, but I'm not sorry that they have come out.  I "welcomed" him home with a delivery steak dinner--from 2000 miles away--the Internet is such a beautiful thing, and he appeared not only thankful, but also like he actually tasted the food. Amazing.  And as my law school baseball hat that he refuses to take off is very ragged, I sent him a hat with my current employer on it.  He can't stop talking about how wonderful it is. 

And for once, I feel like an adequate daughter.  Who is profoundly lucky to have an amazing family.   

The Mother of All Lists

I don't really NEED Mother's Day to Remind me to be nice to my Mother.  We speak at least every other day, more often during periods of stress.  We send each other care packages, and recomend books.  But, maybe mother's day is more about CELEBRATING the ROLE of the mother, what we learn from mother's and grandmother's and aunt's, all those who undertake to "mother" us. 

Without further adieu, I bring you the mother of all lists: 

Heart in My Pocket

Have you ever loved someone so much that you wished you could carry a piece of them with you forever?  The older I get, the more I realize that I know very little of love.  My heart expands in new and unexpected ways as I more fully experience, more fully live.  And this rush of emotion makes the real bussiness of love--letting go--harder than ever.

Right now, 2000 miles away, my father is sleeping in a hospital room.  And there are no words to express what I want to tell him when we talk on the phone.  My heart hurts with unsaid words, tangled statements, dances around the truth.  And all I really know is that I love him. 

Gateway to Home

St. Louis can best be described as a highway, continuous concrete swathes that happen to have a city stuck in their cracks.  An don't get me wrong, at times in the last two years, I have greatly missed the city of my college years, the state of my birth.  I have missed pumping my own gas, free admission to museums, thrift stores and garage sales with true bargains, affordable land.  And, of course, knowing where everything is. 

Because, that's a huge part of home-familiarity.  You know you are home when you can give directions to strangers, find food at midnight, recommend a hairdresser or a doctor.  In the black hole between old home and new, I spent a fair amount of time thinking about moving back.  And not surprisingly, I spent my first few days back in St. Louis, consumed with longing to move closer, intoxicated by the familiar, surrounded by people who GET me.  But slowly, like jet lag, the fairy tale wears off.  I start thinking about WHERE we would live, HOW we would live, WHO I would be, and the fantasy falls flat.