It's my birthday today, so it seems fitting to start the day with the statement, "The older I get..".
It's also fitting that I begin with my favorite thing. Writing.
It's early on a Saturday morning, I'm sitting in bed with my usual TERRIBLE bedhead. (Am I the only one that has serious hair issues in the morning - it's EVERYWHERE. Look at Christmas photos dating back to 1983, when I first had hair, and you'll see the pattern. Bless the people who see me first thing in the morning and still love me.) Piles of blankets and a big fluffy scarf are my closest allies, and the house is quiet. I think my husband might be making me coffee. And breakfast. I'm not sure. But I think. And, yes, if you are keeping score, he will earn meaningless brownies points for these actions.
Shall we begin?
The older I get....
1) I see so much value in understanding yourself.
In being fully aware of the strengths and weaknesses you possess. When you are able to name the good and bad, your contributions increase. For example, I know for a fact that I am very hard on myself. I will almost never be satisfied with the work of my hands, because I could have always, always done at least one, or twenty, things better. Being cognizant, I can plan steps to lessen the impact of meeting less than my own expectation, noting that being satisfied with a little less is better than a complete breakdown. On the flip side, without a doubt, put me in charge of spelling and writing all the things, cooking and canning for a group, and loving people, and I will absolutely shine. (At least from YOUR standards... See the first example.) Know yourself. Be yourself.
2) I see that pain gives birth to pain.
I'm sure I've said it before, I do not have the corner on suffering, but I am also not immune to the deep, dark roots of anguish, anger, and bitterness. Someone in pain, caused me pain. It was life changing and not for the better. The cycle perpetuates all over this great nation, and all over humanity. We decry the perpetuation all the while stirring up the pot ourselves. Humanity loves to pass along our opinions and feelings and angst, loving the reaction it brings. Naturally we all assume we do not want to increase crimes of hatred, but it is all in the small details. The little words here and there. The planting of seeds in the mind. And it all stirs up to big things. Painful, life changing events that people perpetuate. Be someone who stops pain. End a cycle with you. Because. Maybe. Love gives birth to love.
3) I am consistently amazed at entitlement.
As a CNA, I have wiped just about all of the bodily fluids from a variety of sources. I have cleaned up vomit, diarrhea, garbage, blood, urine, and the like. There is not one job I can think of that I feel I am above. I would work at McDonalds. I would be a school janitor. I look around me and all I see are people who think they should not have to do this and that. I have X number of educational degrees, why would I be the one? I have X amount of seniority, why would I be the one? I. I. I. My father recently retired after working 46 years at a grocery store. He did not have a college degree or many accolades,a simple man by the world's standards. But, with dedication and humility he served this company, that did not always treat him well, with his life. He worked with fruits and vegetables for 46 years. With respect. With humility. Without entitlement. His example shaped me. Readers, I hope you have the same example. If not, note this one. Stop being entitled. You do not deserve anything. Regardless. You should work hard at whatever task you see right before you. Always.
4) Beauty is around us and God is near.
I always wondered why "old" people talked about the weather so much. I'm beginning to understand. I appreciate more, with each passing year, the seasons and patterns. The colors of fall are so magnificent and I'm grateful to be back in the land of trees. Growing things - plants, flowers is such a joy. The grass that needs cut every week is lush, soft and beautiful. The beauty we are given is evidence that God is near. He knows about the pain cycle. He knows we ache and hurt at this life. When we look out the window at the big puffy flakes of snow, we can't help but smile. A little message of hope and love from the God who loves you. He says, "I am here. Unchanging as the seasons. Like the sub zero weather that hangs on for four months every.single.year I am constant." He gives us beauty in exchange for the ashes of our lives. He gives us beauty to see. He gives us beauty in the form of people he places in our lives. God is near, readers. Immanuel. Thankful.
On this day, I'm thankful for each of you joining me on this blogging journey. It brings me so much joy and you are a part of that.
Thank you.
Saturday, January 21, 2017
Friday, January 13, 2017
Seasons With Pancakes
Do you ever crave pancakes? I'm sitting in a quiet house, it's late, a familiar Julia Roberts film is playing in the background, and I'm craving pancakes. Pancakes are the syrupy, pillow-ey equivalent to happiness.
Happiness can be elusive, as are pancakes at this hour. I'm sorry about both those things.
Tonight. My heart is longing. I'm so lonely. Have you ever been lonely? Have you ever been in a room full of people and felt entirely alone? Do you long to look across and lock eyes that know you? Wordless communication is my favorite. A simple look and a message is exchanged. Do you think it's possible to survive with half a heart? With half a heart that feels like two quarters held together by tape and glue? Sometimes my heart feels that way.
Oh, for the most part, everything is fine. I carry on about the daily business of living. I go to work. I listen to all the complaints. And there are ever so many. On all sides. I come home and offer support and encouragement to the men I'm raising. I make dinner. I do laundry. I check dates off the calendar. All the while, there are little holes in my heart that ache. This is the process of grief. It ebbs and flows. It rises and falls. We live and we ache. We cry and we laugh.
The season of parting seems never ending and yet, quick. Have four years past? Or two? Ten? Do you feel that time stands still or speeds up? The layers of life bury the ache, but it spills over from time to time and the past years of coping disappear completely.
I miss you, my beloveds. You cannot be replaced. Your value is immeasurable. I'm content to eat my sensitive feelers and mourn your loss.
Maybe one day I'll look up and see you. If only in my imagination. Our eyes will meet. Your heart will recognize mine. And happiness, however fleeting, will be ours to hold.
Happiness can be elusive, as are pancakes at this hour. I'm sorry about both those things.
Tonight. My heart is longing. I'm so lonely. Have you ever been lonely? Have you ever been in a room full of people and felt entirely alone? Do you long to look across and lock eyes that know you? Wordless communication is my favorite. A simple look and a message is exchanged. Do you think it's possible to survive with half a heart? With half a heart that feels like two quarters held together by tape and glue? Sometimes my heart feels that way.
Oh, for the most part, everything is fine. I carry on about the daily business of living. I go to work. I listen to all the complaints. And there are ever so many. On all sides. I come home and offer support and encouragement to the men I'm raising. I make dinner. I do laundry. I check dates off the calendar. All the while, there are little holes in my heart that ache. This is the process of grief. It ebbs and flows. It rises and falls. We live and we ache. We cry and we laugh.
The season of parting seems never ending and yet, quick. Have four years past? Or two? Ten? Do you feel that time stands still or speeds up? The layers of life bury the ache, but it spills over from time to time and the past years of coping disappear completely.
I miss you, my beloveds. You cannot be replaced. Your value is immeasurable. I'm content to eat my sensitive feelers and mourn your loss.
Maybe one day I'll look up and see you. If only in my imagination. Our eyes will meet. Your heart will recognize mine. And happiness, however fleeting, will be ours to hold.
Friday, January 6, 2017
January
January is well on its way.
I love January and not because it houses the best Facebook day of the year (read: my birthday).
I love January for its calm.
No one makes a lot of plans. There are no school concerts or events because, frankly, the schools also "can't even" at this point. Corporations decide you must restrict your working hours. These are all good things.
The rest I have so longed for is here.
A week in and I've had ever so many chats with my children. One very interesting one that involved me getting a baby sister here sometime soon, to which I replied, you'd better start asking Jesus for that today because Mommy is getting old. I instantly regretted my choice of words, because this is just the type of thing Jesus might use to build a child's faith. I was then directed that the baby sister should be adopted and be in preschool, so as to avoid all that baby stuff, "unless you really want to because I know you love all the babies."
I will pause to say, Friends, dear readers, I'm so known. And I love that. There is nothing more special than being known. It means you are loved. Someone has listened. Someone has cared enough to retain. Someone knows you. Someone loves you. Treasure that in the quiet places of your soul.
Adding a baby sister is not in any of my plans. But our carefully laid plans are in the hand of a Father who adores us and wants to give us good things this year, and every year. I am almost eye level with one such good thing, and it overwhelms me. So soon he grew. So quickly he is passing on his way. I'm thankful for January. I'm thankful for quieter days to enjoy my good things.
All the best things, as you should already know, all the best and good things are people. The people in your life are just waiting to eat all the Mr. Goodbar and race camels with you. And maybe a baby sister. But especially just with you, the person who is already here and loved.
January is calm.
Use it wisely. Rest well. Relate well. And I am sure that this will better lift any despondency, and "post holiday blues," and "seasonal angst" that January is most known for.
Um. And it's my birthday. So. It's pertinent that I share for the record, in case you may have missed it in any prior social media post or blog, my primary love language is gifts. But. I am also specially qualified to adhere to all 5...so, there's that. Alright. You've got options.
I love January and not because it houses the best Facebook day of the year (read: my birthday).
I love January for its calm.
No one makes a lot of plans. There are no school concerts or events because, frankly, the schools also "can't even" at this point. Corporations decide you must restrict your working hours. These are all good things.
The rest I have so longed for is here.
A week in and I've had ever so many chats with my children. One very interesting one that involved me getting a baby sister here sometime soon, to which I replied, you'd better start asking Jesus for that today because Mommy is getting old. I instantly regretted my choice of words, because this is just the type of thing Jesus might use to build a child's faith. I was then directed that the baby sister should be adopted and be in preschool, so as to avoid all that baby stuff, "unless you really want to because I know you love all the babies."
I will pause to say, Friends, dear readers, I'm so known. And I love that. There is nothing more special than being known. It means you are loved. Someone has listened. Someone has cared enough to retain. Someone knows you. Someone loves you. Treasure that in the quiet places of your soul.
Adding a baby sister is not in any of my plans. But our carefully laid plans are in the hand of a Father who adores us and wants to give us good things this year, and every year. I am almost eye level with one such good thing, and it overwhelms me. So soon he grew. So quickly he is passing on his way. I'm thankful for January. I'm thankful for quieter days to enjoy my good things.
All the best things, as you should already know, all the best and good things are people. The people in your life are just waiting to eat all the Mr. Goodbar and race camels with you. And maybe a baby sister. But especially just with you, the person who is already here and loved.
January is calm.
Use it wisely. Rest well. Relate well. And I am sure that this will better lift any despondency, and "post holiday blues," and "seasonal angst" that January is most known for.
Um. And it's my birthday. So. It's pertinent that I share for the record, in case you may have missed it in any prior social media post or blog, my primary love language is gifts. But. I am also specially qualified to adhere to all 5...so, there's that. Alright. You've got options.
Saturday, December 31, 2016
What are you doing New Year's?
It's the eve of the new year. Mixed feelings always on this day. Do you know that I have never been to a party on this day? Never once have I been in a swanky, sparkly place, dressed to the nines, sipping Tequila at midnight. It sounds amazing. Being part of a group. Eating expensive food. Strings of white lights. Candles. Laughter. And. Maybe an opportunity to dance. Writers are dreamers. I'm good with that.
I have never once partied like it's 1999, because incidentally, on the eve of Y2K I was working till the wee hours to ensure the cash registers would allow the people, who were hung over on January 1, to purchase Advil.
I have, however, attended many a Scrabble match in my sweat pants, with sloppy joes, chips, sweet tea and cookies. I have shared my heart over puzzles. I have gone to bed with tears of lonliness. I have celebrated, with sparklers in the snow, the "magic" hour of 2100 hours before tucking precious littles into bed.
No matter the way in which I ring it in, I always experience melancholy. In some form. In the back of my mind. I dwell on the past. I feel the familiar pain. And I allow myself a moment, or two, to look my lifetime companion in the eye. To say, "I see you there. Your presence is palpable." But just as palpable is the knowledge that beauty rises from ashes. God does not intend for us to remain broken. He comes in the quietness to cover and heal those hurting spaces. Like a soft, winter snow. He does his best work here, friends, he really does.
I close my eyes briefly, and when I open them, I know that what lies ahead is different. Better. I'm older. Yikes. Creeping up there for realz. Who knows. Maybe one day I will find myself super important and special, attending a gala like Cinderella, on the eve of a new year. Even so, I will meet my old friend, and then I will smile. Big. Because whether in sweat pants or a cocktail dress, life is a gift to be celebrated.
I'll take an imaginary spin around the room tonight, but also I'll look back, and then to what lies ahead.
A new chapter in my story. I have no idea what it will say.
May the One who loves me best help me to write it well.
I have never once partied like it's 1999, because incidentally, on the eve of Y2K I was working till the wee hours to ensure the cash registers would allow the people, who were hung over on January 1, to purchase Advil.
I have, however, attended many a Scrabble match in my sweat pants, with sloppy joes, chips, sweet tea and cookies. I have shared my heart over puzzles. I have gone to bed with tears of lonliness. I have celebrated, with sparklers in the snow, the "magic" hour of 2100 hours before tucking precious littles into bed.
No matter the way in which I ring it in, I always experience melancholy. In some form. In the back of my mind. I dwell on the past. I feel the familiar pain. And I allow myself a moment, or two, to look my lifetime companion in the eye. To say, "I see you there. Your presence is palpable." But just as palpable is the knowledge that beauty rises from ashes. God does not intend for us to remain broken. He comes in the quietness to cover and heal those hurting spaces. Like a soft, winter snow. He does his best work here, friends, he really does.
I close my eyes briefly, and when I open them, I know that what lies ahead is different. Better. I'm older. Yikes. Creeping up there for realz. Who knows. Maybe one day I will find myself super important and special, attending a gala like Cinderella, on the eve of a new year. Even so, I will meet my old friend, and then I will smile. Big. Because whether in sweat pants or a cocktail dress, life is a gift to be celebrated.
I'll take an imaginary spin around the room tonight, but also I'll look back, and then to what lies ahead.
A new chapter in my story. I have no idea what it will say.
May the One who loves me best help me to write it well.
Friday, December 23, 2016
Every Time A Bell Rings...
Readers, it's a tough week ahead. My least favorite week of the year. I hate considering the past and contemplating the future; but it is something everyone does at the imminent approach of a new year.
I've seen so many jokes about this being the worst year EVER. I remember the exact same thing happening a year ago. I have to wonder if this idea that every year is "the worst thing we've ever encountered" or "I'm so over this year, bring on another" was a thing before social media. Did our parents hate every single year of their lives? Seriously. Do you think so? Or is this indicative of a current sense of entitlement that seems to define EVERYONE?
I experienced many challenges this year. I'm still engrossed in exhaustion and challenge, but I certainly would not declare this to be the worst year of my life. Nor the one before it. (Those are reserved for some very specific times.) We are our choices. We shape our lives through daily choice, and if this was the eighth "worst year ever" in a row, I'd have to suggest you take a closer look at your agenda. I am not suggesting anything more than I am doing in my own life. I have taken copious notes in recent days and made some decisions. I realize the life I'm shaping isn't the life I necessarily want.
One of my favorite seasonal movies is - It's A Wonderful Life. I haven't seen it in several years, but I still have the script stored. How could George have possibly known that all those daily choices would add up to a life that is priceless? Each day that he made a choice to give of himself, he found meaning, and, further, he enriched countless lives around him. Every time I saw Jimmy Stewart desperately seeking to be known, wrestling with Clarence for information regarding his beloved, I was moved. Would that we all would have the opportunity for the same experience. A pre-chance to gauge how we are measuring up.
Are you shaping your life to be priceless? Or are you expecting this life to give YOU something? Like the year 2016 owes you more income, a different president-elect, or less stress. In actuality, the year 2016 was a season of time that you were gifted. Now you get to take stock of what you did with it. Did your daily choices add up?
I think if my life ended today, I wouldn't exactly be proud of my 2016. And it's not because of what happened TO me, it's because of the choices I made. It's the responses to situations. It's the time lost. It's the giving of myself to the things that will perish.
In the next week, I'm going to be bummed. It happens every year. But the key word for the approach of a new year is: GRACE.
May we all be liberal givers and takers of such. It is straight from tbe heart of God. For you. For your path.
2017 will not "hopefully be my year" unless you make it so. Be action. Be love. Be mercy. Be grace. I think you will find it will make for a wonderful life.
I've seen so many jokes about this being the worst year EVER. I remember the exact same thing happening a year ago. I have to wonder if this idea that every year is "the worst thing we've ever encountered" or "I'm so over this year, bring on another" was a thing before social media. Did our parents hate every single year of their lives? Seriously. Do you think so? Or is this indicative of a current sense of entitlement that seems to define EVERYONE?
I experienced many challenges this year. I'm still engrossed in exhaustion and challenge, but I certainly would not declare this to be the worst year of my life. Nor the one before it. (Those are reserved for some very specific times.) We are our choices. We shape our lives through daily choice, and if this was the eighth "worst year ever" in a row, I'd have to suggest you take a closer look at your agenda. I am not suggesting anything more than I am doing in my own life. I have taken copious notes in recent days and made some decisions. I realize the life I'm shaping isn't the life I necessarily want.
One of my favorite seasonal movies is - It's A Wonderful Life. I haven't seen it in several years, but I still have the script stored. How could George have possibly known that all those daily choices would add up to a life that is priceless? Each day that he made a choice to give of himself, he found meaning, and, further, he enriched countless lives around him. Every time I saw Jimmy Stewart desperately seeking to be known, wrestling with Clarence for information regarding his beloved, I was moved. Would that we all would have the opportunity for the same experience. A pre-chance to gauge how we are measuring up.
Are you shaping your life to be priceless? Or are you expecting this life to give YOU something? Like the year 2016 owes you more income, a different president-elect, or less stress. In actuality, the year 2016 was a season of time that you were gifted. Now you get to take stock of what you did with it. Did your daily choices add up?
I think if my life ended today, I wouldn't exactly be proud of my 2016. And it's not because of what happened TO me, it's because of the choices I made. It's the responses to situations. It's the time lost. It's the giving of myself to the things that will perish.
In the next week, I'm going to be bummed. It happens every year. But the key word for the approach of a new year is: GRACE.
May we all be liberal givers and takers of such. It is straight from tbe heart of God. For you. For your path.
2017 will not "hopefully be my year" unless you make it so. Be action. Be love. Be mercy. Be grace. I think you will find it will make for a wonderful life.
Saturday, December 17, 2016
Anne
One of my favorite literary characters of all time is Anne Shirley. I loved reading about her. I loved watching her come to life through Megan Follows. I personally relate to Anne on so many levels. I see the same characteristics in myself that I see in her. Just a joy from start to finish to be a part of her imagined life. Do yourselves a favor sometime. Immerse yourself in the culture of Prince Edward Island. Of Green Gables. Engage the spirit of friendship that, in my opinion, might be unrivaled. Friendship of the heart that knows no hindrance. Two hearts that so naturally bond for life. It's what we long for.
Now. Anne. Utterly delightful. Has some flaws about her. She, like myself, reacts quickly and emotionally. She breaks her slate on Gilbert's head after he calls her "Carrots" because of her red hair. She has a great deal of trouble holding her tongue. She is thoughtful but very reactionary. There is one particular instance that I am going to relate today.
A neighbor lady, Rachel, complained to Anne that her cow had been getting into her field and had been destructive. Anne promises to rectify the situation, but driving along one day, looks up and sees a cow in the field chewing on the produce. Instantly. Despite being in her best clothes, she hops out of the buggy, convinces her somewhat prissy friend to help, climbs the fence, and both attempt to corral the cow out of the muddy field. Both are drenched in mud and sludge when a local farmer happens along, and, in anger, Anne sells him the cow on the spot. Turns out the cow in question actually belonged to Rachel....
I've been particularly busy at work. I'm trying my best to hold a lot of processes together, and it happened to be the responsibility of my department to empty the garbage two weeks in a row. By day 9 of hearing complaints about the timeliness of this project being done, I had had it. My inner dialogue was something like this... "I'm juggling 354.8 balls right now. If the only one that falls to the ground is the garbage, so be it. I count that a success. If you have time to come complain about the garbage, you must have the time to do it yourself." Anne. Angela. Reactionary.
I push two of the bins out and empty them into the dumpster. I come back and grab the other two and notice a metal container on the floor. "Seriously?! You missed the bin in your haste to dump your trash?" is my question. I schlep it into the bin and proceed emptying those into the dumpster. As I return, I notice there are more of said containers. And. Further. There are labeled signs numbering the containers. Now you've gone and done it. In your haste and anger you have thrown away company property. When will you ever learn?!
I go out to the dumpster. In my best clothes, mind you. I find the container which isn't too far in but I can't reach it. I search to no avail for something to help me get it. I hike up my skirt, much like Anne, to avoid getting too dirty. I climb INTO the dumpster. Into the dumpster. Bless it. I retrieve the container. But I can't get out of the dumpster. It's seemingly the same height on both sides but I am actually a little shorter on the inside. I cautiously look out, and see the UPS guy chilling and watching the whole scenario. It's like Gilbert Blythe! Humph. I will handle this with as much dignity as I can muster at this point. Thankfully it's quite dark at this point, I hike up my skirt and ungracefully emerge...errrrr....fall out of the dumpster. I dust myself off and haughtily saunter past him. Anne to a "T."
As I'm replacing the container, a co-worker walks by and says something like, "Oh, what are you doing with that mousetrap?"
Mic drop.
I couldn't be more like her if I tried. Oh the situations I find myself in. Honestly I'm not sure I'm even as delightful as her to see past my transgressions. But we're all a work in progress, yes? Some of us apparently have more work to do than others....
Now. Anne. Utterly delightful. Has some flaws about her. She, like myself, reacts quickly and emotionally. She breaks her slate on Gilbert's head after he calls her "Carrots" because of her red hair. She has a great deal of trouble holding her tongue. She is thoughtful but very reactionary. There is one particular instance that I am going to relate today.
A neighbor lady, Rachel, complained to Anne that her cow had been getting into her field and had been destructive. Anne promises to rectify the situation, but driving along one day, looks up and sees a cow in the field chewing on the produce. Instantly. Despite being in her best clothes, she hops out of the buggy, convinces her somewhat prissy friend to help, climbs the fence, and both attempt to corral the cow out of the muddy field. Both are drenched in mud and sludge when a local farmer happens along, and, in anger, Anne sells him the cow on the spot. Turns out the cow in question actually belonged to Rachel....
I've been particularly busy at work. I'm trying my best to hold a lot of processes together, and it happened to be the responsibility of my department to empty the garbage two weeks in a row. By day 9 of hearing complaints about the timeliness of this project being done, I had had it. My inner dialogue was something like this... "I'm juggling 354.8 balls right now. If the only one that falls to the ground is the garbage, so be it. I count that a success. If you have time to come complain about the garbage, you must have the time to do it yourself." Anne. Angela. Reactionary.
I push two of the bins out and empty them into the dumpster. I come back and grab the other two and notice a metal container on the floor. "Seriously?! You missed the bin in your haste to dump your trash?" is my question. I schlep it into the bin and proceed emptying those into the dumpster. As I return, I notice there are more of said containers. And. Further. There are labeled signs numbering the containers. Now you've gone and done it. In your haste and anger you have thrown away company property. When will you ever learn?!
I go out to the dumpster. In my best clothes, mind you. I find the container which isn't too far in but I can't reach it. I search to no avail for something to help me get it. I hike up my skirt, much like Anne, to avoid getting too dirty. I climb INTO the dumpster. Into the dumpster. Bless it. I retrieve the container. But I can't get out of the dumpster. It's seemingly the same height on both sides but I am actually a little shorter on the inside. I cautiously look out, and see the UPS guy chilling and watching the whole scenario. It's like Gilbert Blythe! Humph. I will handle this with as much dignity as I can muster at this point. Thankfully it's quite dark at this point, I hike up my skirt and ungracefully emerge...errrrr....fall out of the dumpster. I dust myself off and haughtily saunter past him. Anne to a "T."
As I'm replacing the container, a co-worker walks by and says something like, "Oh, what are you doing with that mousetrap?"
Mic drop.
I couldn't be more like her if I tried. Oh the situations I find myself in. Honestly I'm not sure I'm even as delightful as her to see past my transgressions. But we're all a work in progress, yes? Some of us apparently have more work to do than others....
Thursday, December 8, 2016
Home Alone
It's been a full day of refreshment. I did not leave the house today. Not once. Presently I'm sitting in front of the fireplace, with a warm cup of coffee, staring at my screen and stealing glimpses of the Christmas tree. Side note: my cat is drinking the tree water and when I touched a branch today, all the needles instantly fell to the floor. Stay tuned for the Griswold fire in the next week or two... My youngest son is fresh from the shower in his jammie pants and suit jacket. He is listening to something with his headphones and grabbing slices of pizza. It's like watching a live version of Home Alone.
I'm browsing. Shopping in my mind. Two things stand out to me. 1) If I want to go see Wicked, I can buy the last reasonable ticket and go alone. We have already discussed my love of the theater and this production in particular. So. I'm probably going to do it. I've absolutely no issue going alone. It just means I have to buy my own slice of pie afterward. Which is a little disheartening. 2) My favorite childhood book is out of print. We also discussed this. The Twelve Dancing Princesses? Remember? I was thinking about purchasing it just because it was one of the happy memories of my childhood. A keepsake. Something sentimental. And do you know Amazon is selling it for $94?! A child's book. Probably 15 pages at most. Out of print. $94.
Now. If I'm in the live version of Home Alone, I'm rather expecting a Christmas miracle. And it could be one of many things. It's not likely to be Wicked tickets or an out of print book. I mean who knows, the big guy is always watching, ya? But. It's more likely to be the small things. The little kindnesses that creep into each day. The co-worker who brushes the snow off your car. The UPS guy who doesn't dump your packages in the snowdrift, but, rather, brings them to your doorstep. The person you pass every day who greets you with a warm smile. The child who lights up when you enter the house. The pet who curls up in your lap to watch a show. The friend that sends a random text to let you know you occupy a spot in their thoughts and heart. The large Dunkin Donuts iced tea with say two, or whatever, three, Splendas, that makes its way to your desk.
Small, maybe anonymous, Christmas miracles. A way to brighten a day. A week. Or a year. Challenge accepted.
I'm browsing. Shopping in my mind. Two things stand out to me. 1) If I want to go see Wicked, I can buy the last reasonable ticket and go alone. We have already discussed my love of the theater and this production in particular. So. I'm probably going to do it. I've absolutely no issue going alone. It just means I have to buy my own slice of pie afterward. Which is a little disheartening. 2) My favorite childhood book is out of print. We also discussed this. The Twelve Dancing Princesses? Remember? I was thinking about purchasing it just because it was one of the happy memories of my childhood. A keepsake. Something sentimental. And do you know Amazon is selling it for $94?! A child's book. Probably 15 pages at most. Out of print. $94.
Now. If I'm in the live version of Home Alone, I'm rather expecting a Christmas miracle. And it could be one of many things. It's not likely to be Wicked tickets or an out of print book. I mean who knows, the big guy is always watching, ya? But. It's more likely to be the small things. The little kindnesses that creep into each day. The co-worker who brushes the snow off your car. The UPS guy who doesn't dump your packages in the snowdrift, but, rather, brings them to your doorstep. The person you pass every day who greets you with a warm smile. The child who lights up when you enter the house. The pet who curls up in your lap to watch a show. The friend that sends a random text to let you know you occupy a spot in their thoughts and heart. The large Dunkin Donuts iced tea with say two, or whatever, three, Splendas, that makes its way to your desk.
Small, maybe anonymous, Christmas miracles. A way to brighten a day. A week. Or a year. Challenge accepted.
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