Giving-Not-Getting Christmas

I had a rather remarkable conversation with my FabFam this week.  

       It's been no secret that we've had a rough go of it this year.  We've gone through our share of sickness and loss and struggle.  It's made me--and the folks I've been walking through this season with--rethink a lot of things.  We all have a different perspective on our lives.  We have all shifted priorities.  And in the middle of all this, we are all still searching for answers to the Big Questions.  

    For me, much of this has manifested as a crisis of faith.  I've been wrestling with what I believe in and how I think I can authentically demonstrate that belief.  Once a devout Christian, I have not steadily attended any church in a while now.  With Christmas approaching, I have found myself pondering this spiritual business with more fervency.  This is the state I'm in as we enter this holiday season.

     After seeing a barrage of  Black Friday Sale commercials the other night, I noted that I am not feeling particularly warm and fuzzy about another consumer frenzy holiday season.  The idea of shopping is just too overwhelming for me.  

     

     What unfolded was the beginning of a thoughtful discussion about what kind of Christmas we do want to have.  We don't want a manic season full of shopping for gifts that have no lasting value.  We do want the season to have some meaning for us--as individuals and as a family.  We've got a ways to go yet.  This is an ongoing discussion, indeed.  What I do know is that my children amaze me.  They are willing to forego "getting" in favor of "giving."  There is talk about what kind of good deeds to do together as a family.  It has touched me deeply to find that I'm not in this alone.

     I'll keep you posted as this Giving-Not-Getting Christmas unfolds.

I Forgot I Had a Blog for a While There

     My Mama asked me if I were still blogging. I told her I was.  She sounded surprised.

    I guess I don't blame her.  I haven't been here much lately, eh?  No good reason for it.  I just didn't seem to have anything to write about.

     I have wrestled a bit with the usual season change-related health issues.(Meh.  It is what it is. I'm better off than so many other chronically ill folks.)  I've been busy--happily busy--with work.  The dogs and the FabFam have kept me on my toes.  I've knocked off a few more items off of the Official Fall of Fabulosity To Do List:

• I planted garlic and my Personal Chef moved a truckload of loam to the new veggie bed.

• I got apple butter, and applesauce, and apple pie, and apple muffins made.  (A chef friend gave us a boatload of apples from his yard a few weeks back!)

• Trekked to Trinity Rep. in Providence to see their final dress rehearsal of A Christmas Carol

• Got my geek on with my parents, my Personal Chef & the Evil Genius at a special viewing of  The Ghost Army documentary about the 603rd and their fake army unit--lifelike inflatable tanks and planes, hours of state-of-the-art sound recordings of active military bases, and flawless faux radio communications.

• The movie was so awesome that the Evil Genius and I followed up with a trip to the Museum of Work & Culture to see the Ghost Army Exhibit.  

• My Personal Chef & I caught a great Jonny Lang show.

• My sisterfriend & I went on a winery tour.

• The FabFam has celebrated the first of at least three Thanksgivings.  (Have I mentioned that I married a chef?!)

     

    So, I'm sorry I've been misisng from this space, but my days have been full.  I've caught a lot of joyful moments.  Indeed.

     

Half

    Half a year has gone by since David and Evelyn drowned.  Spring gave way to summer and now autumn is upon me.  I am surprised by the passing of the seasons this way.  It all seemed to happen so quickly, without me noticing, even while I have tried to be aware of the fleeting nature of time.

     I have made a concerted effort to pay attention to the moments as though they were gifted to me--because they have been.  I made a point to watch the shooting stars from the Perseids and the Orionids.  I was awestruck by the magic of the summer's super moon.  Yet, I'm stunned to realize that the moon has waxed and waned six times since that night in May.

      Knowing that tomorrow is not promised to me, I have mindfully tried to capture joyful moments in each day.  I've worked at connecting with each of the people I love as frequently as I can, mostly in small ways--a phone call, an email, a goofy card dropped in the mail.  I've taken steps to mend some broken relationships. I've taken more photos than ever.  I've said, "Yes" to more invitations. I've visited more places and tried more things on the "one of these days I'm going to..." list.

       In fact, I  made special To Do lists--the Summer of Awesomeness and the Fall of Fabulosity--and have made some truly great memories with the people I love. There was wonderful music and family gatherings and babies and beach days and a wedding and birthdays on my calendar.  

     And still, I have lost entire weeks to cleaning laundry, dishes, and bathrooms; fussing over half-pints of milk at work; sitting in doctor's waiting rooms; watching mindless television; arguing over meaningless bits of protocol in board meetings.  I'm still suprised to discover that one hundred and eighty-two days have passed. Six months is gone.

     

     

Half a year.

     

     

    

     

Shift in Perspective

     I hate October.  I hate it.  For as long as I can remember, I have associated October with trauma.  All of my deepest wounds and losses have come in October.  Usually they've hit me with such intensity that if I were to write the story of my Octobers as a screenplay, HBO would pick it up as a dark comedy.
     No.  Seriously.  As an example:  There was a single day in an October where I was sitting in the ER with Thing 2 when my stepmother called to tell me my father was rushed by ambulance to another hospital.  A few hours later, my father-in-law called to tell us that My Personal Chef's mother was being rushed to yet a different hospital.  All life-threatening.  All on the same day.  All in October.

   

     Then October, 2013 rolled around.  It's been good.  Very good, in fact. For starters, it's beautiful.  Living in New England, I've been blessed with some of the most incredible fall foliage on the planet.  This is the river that runs through my neighborhood:

     Add to this lovely environment, are all these people I love that have filled my days with joy.  With the Official Fall of Fabulosity To Do List,  I've intentionally been making sure that we do things that are memory making. There's been trips to two different country fairs.  High-spirited dinners out with friends have fed both body and soul.   The impromptu birthday party with my sisterfriends was nifty. Trips to the library and bookstores and the post office all made me smile.  (Yes, the post office--I  simply LOVE to send mail to folks and there is a brand new baby in the FabFam that needed a personalized gift shipped to her in sunny Florida.)  

     The Evil Genius and I went to a local museum, and a Harlem Wizards show basketball game last weekend.  A pack of us ran the Color Run 5K, too.  Something about tie dying a tee shirt while wearing it just tickled me.  Seeing my sisterfriend, husband and youngest son complete their first 5K ever was pretty satisfying, too. 

     I had the extreme pleasure of spending a lunch hour at the Sachuest National Wildlife Refuge one afternoon this week.  It's a point of land at the very edge of Aquidneck Island past the last of the Newport Beaches in Rhode Island.  Miles of trails wind along the rocky Atlantic shore, bordered by thicket and meadow.  The weather was spectacular.  It was unseasonably warm, but a late afternoon storm threatened to come in off the sea, so the skies were brilliantly purple and grey. The views, at every turn, alternated from life-affirming to breathtaking. A chance encounter on the trail with a middle-aged couple in full formal wear (beautiful teal ballgown and a well cut tuxedo with a calla lily boutiniere) just delighted me.  I can't think of a   more perfect day or a lovlier place to have eloped.

   There's still more.  There was dinner with my cousins and my mama and Thing 1.  The Red Sox are in the World Series. My Personal Chef and I trekked to a restored theater with friends to see the 1923 silent movie "The Hunchback of Notre Dame."  Lon Chaney, a mighty Wurlitzer, friends, popcorn... What's not to love?  

    So. Much. Joy.

     And still, it wasn't until sometime yesterday that I actually exhaled and let go of all that dread. It's like I have been expecting the gates of hell to unleash their full fury upon me at any moment.  I did exhale though.  I'm working on letting go of that fear.  And I'm mindful of all that is wonderful around me.  October, you will not get the best of me this year.

Girl Talk: Boys Dish to Me About Girls

     I have had several conversations recently with boys and men about their engagements with females.  It's been a fascinating experience.  Ultimately, it's helped maintain my faith in humanity.

     For starters, there are the twenty-somethings that drape themselves on my furniture and eat all my food.  They're all complete bananaheads.  (I mentioned they are in their early twenties, right?)  They have no real clue about where they are going in life, but hey, they are making great time...  Ah, the divine oblivion of youth.
    They are forever talking about girls.  They are quick to judge, quick to change judgements, quick to say something stupid, quick to call each other on the stupid things they say.  Usually, I remember that they are just learning how to be young men, so I let them blather on.  Once in a while, though, they are way off base, and I have to redirect them by raising my hand up in the air and proclaiming, "Mother, sitting right here!"  Usually,that prompts an apology and a change in subject.
     I've come to the conclusion that for the most part, the young men in my life have been taught that young women should be treated with great respect, and by and large, they have caught the jist of the lesson.  It's heartening to see. I've witnessed the guys policing one of their fellow friends when he's crossed the line and said something abhorrent.  I've witnessed them standing up for a young woman being harshly treated. I've even been asked for advice by several of them on how to be supportive of a female friend they were concerned about, when her risk-taking behavior escalated.  They aren't "bad boys."  They're just hormonal balls of stupid.  I'm reasonably confident that they will grow into men who will treat women respectfully, equally, appropriately.

     Then there are the men in my peer group.  Primarily, these are men I'm related to, are friends with, or work with.   So, I get that there is a predisposition for them to get along well with me.  It's harder to discount the value of someone you actually know. I'm not one of "THEM."  They are still products of their generation, though.  And they grew up in changing times. Some of them, like me, were raised to believe women could be anything they wanted to be.  Some of them, though,  were raised to conform to specific gender roles and the corresponding ideas about those roles.  And they all interact together everyday--with each other and with women. It can get messy and complicated.
     We've talked together about this in a number of settings.   As an example, for this year's Fantasy Football Draft, I was consulted before it was decided to meet at Hooters.  The stated motivation for going to Hooters for the draft was a special they were having that absorbed a lot of the costs that we usually take on.  I believe that to be sincere.  Had I stated that I was uncomfortable with the venue, the entire group would have gone someplace else.  That I was asked made me feel valued and respected.
     The night of the draft, I walked into a conversation several of the guys were already having about the venue.  All of the men were in their 40s or older.  All of them found that THEY were uncomfortable with the sexualization of the young waitresses. It pleased me, a lot, that they came to that conclusion on their own. I might have ribbed them about the choir of angels coming down to recognize this moment...
      And  no, it wasn't staged for my benefit.  The guys were still talking about it back at the office a few days later, and when one of the men (who was not at the draft) made a callous remark about his attraction to young waitresses, the other guys pounced on him.  There's hope for us all, I think.
     That being said, men are still hardwired to be sexual beings.  At that same draft, where the fellas had their beautiful moment of enlightenment, a coworker inadvertently admitted to finding me attractive.  It was clear from the context of our interaction that he was not objectifying me, he wasn't being disloyal to his wife, he wasn't teaching his daughter that she was inferior to her brother, he wasn't being a douche.  He was just being a man, in all his human glory.  And we both laughed (and laughed and laughed) about it, because damn if it wasn't hilarious.

     This humanity of men was explained to me pretty eloquently by an elderly friend of mine this past weekend.  At 87-years-old, Fred has covered the full-spectrum of life's experiences.  He's kindhearted, smart, and generous.  He's also crochety and opinionated and he's a shameless flirt.  I'm very fond of him.  Over the weekend, he and my Personal Chef jokingly came to an arrangement where my husband would "lend me" to Fred if he thought he could catch me.  Nothing like a little inappropriate humor to liven up a Rotary event, eh? Now, nobody for a minute thinks that I'm going to have an affair.  Still, it brightened Fred's day considerably. He noted to me that all men want to be considered desireable for all of their lives.  It is his  belief, in fact, that it is that which is the primary motivator for men's behavior.  Men participate in sports, strive to succeed in business, engage in community service all in order to attract the attention of a potential mate.  To listen to his pack of Old Guys discuss this at length was very eye-opening.

    What does all this mean?  I'm pretty sure it means that boys will be boys, but that they don't have to be tools while they're at it.

     

Apologies for Going MIA

     A snotbomb struck our house two weeks ago or so and it's been a thermoMuclear disaster here since.  We're finally coming out of the bunkers to rejoin the survivors.

Girl Talk: Discovering that Being a Girl is a Problem

    I am very fortunate to have grown up in a family that treated me as if they truly believed that I could be anything. I was never pushed to "girl things" or steered away from "boy things."  I was encouraged to try everything that interested me in any area--arts, sports, academics.  I was supported in the things that I self-selected as being "my thing"  (theater, music, outdoorsy things like hiking and camping).   My academic successes were celebrated.  I always had a sizeable fan club in attendance at my school plays, piano recitals, softball games, and soccer games.  When I missed the mark, I wasn't shamed or otherwised punished.  I was razzed good-naturedly for my failings.  There is no getting around being teased in my family.  It's actually a sign of affection. None of this was about my gender, though.

     In fact, I do not remember ever being aware of being expected to fulfill any gender roles.  My one attempt at learning to sew was a disaster that is still joked about today.  My mother, in exasperation at my mess and incometence in culinary efforts as a teenager told me to get out of her kitchen.  Her recommendation, "Marry a chef." (Best advice she ever gave me.)

     I wasn't born with the competitive gene,  and I was clumsy and slow.  In a family of scholar-athletes, it was a source of shame for me that I sucked at sports.  Never for a minute, though, did I think it was because I was female.

     I was fairly aware that being female was something my mother and aunts and their mothers before them made them "less than" in the man's world they were born into.  My mother had to fight to get off of the teller line and into the management training program at the bank.  I realized that it was a major victory when she beat out a male Harvard MBA for a bank manager's position several years later.  What I was completely unaware of was that other girls in my peer group still had to fight the idea that they were less than simply because of their gender.  I was an adult before I realized this.  And it blew my mind.