Happy Thanksgivings

Bee Gees Song of the Day: I Can't See Nobody

I cant see nobody...no, I cant see nobody.
My eyes can only look at you...you.

Ahhhh, it’s a fabulous day! Traffic was blessedly light. I have a hot cup of decaf coursing through my veins. No executives in the office to speak of. The promise of apple pie later in the day. The weather is dank and gloomy. Spooky when it’s dark out; with all the leaves swirling around one’s feet. It’s autumn and it’s beautiful. And it’s Thanksgiving.

I’m driving to New York to have a few days with my kids. Talk about thankful.

I’ve had some very good Thanksgivings. Mom used to just go all out at Thanksgiving and Christmas. The house would smell of turkey and stuffing and rutabaga and good things. Mom is the best cook ever. Gramma would send over pumpkin, blueberry, cherry, apple, and mince pies. We’d watch the Macy’s Day Parade on television all morning, a few cartoons thrown in for good measure (Popeye, Bullwinkle, Bugs Bunny, Tom & Jerry). Later, we would play outside – there was almost always snow up on the hill where we live. We'd build snow men and women, dig tunnels, carve out snow caves, jump on them and eventually crush them. Then we would come in wet, dirty and exhausted. We’d lay down on the floor with Dad and we would fall asleep curled up by the heating vent watching football.

There was the year my Virginia cousins came up for Thanksgiving; probably the first Thanksgiving after Grampa died in 1978. It is notable because Salem’s Lot was on. My cousin and I recognized in each other a certain loutish behavior; an instant and lasting camaraderie was struck. We still share it. It’s crude and insensitive, and I’m not going to go into detail. But it still makes us laugh.

Lots of wonderful Thanksgivings during my marriage. The men would go hunting, the women would stay back and cook. All the cousins would play together – remarkably little blood shed; we all have such good kids they all got along - and still get along - so well.

One year, one of my boys had made a loaf of bread in school. It was the size of his fist and was about as light and fluffy as a hockey puck. We placed it on the table prominently, we all had a piece. It was awful, but it made my son so happy to have contributed something for dinner. And we ate it.

Then there was the last Thanksgiving I had with my Gramma. I had invited everyone over to my home for dinner. 30 people, little ones all over the place, it was wonderful. Gramma had alzheimers, but she was still communicative, very innocent. I sat on the floor next to her and asked if I could get her anything, tea, more potatoes, anything. “Nope!” her eyes shone, “Evie says that if I eat all my dinner, I can have pumpkin pie!” I smiled, “That’s right Gramma! You can!” We talked a few more minutes and Gramma said, “If I eat all my dinner, I get pie!” “That’s right Gramma, you do! Eat up!” We talked some more, I tended to the rest of the family. As I passed Gramma again, she showed me her plate, “May I have some pie now?” I don’t think I can think of anything more beautiful.

Wow, this is making me cry actually. A piece of pie. A loaf of bread. A stupid joke. Would that we all could find joy in small things, in small moments and keep them with us. I’m so glad I have that memory. And you know what? I don’t think I can type anymore.

Happy Thanksgiving :)

More Little Lacie

Bee Gees Song of the Day: Love Never Dies

To God above i swear
I only wanna live in the shadow you make
the soul never lies
but love never dies it goes on forever

Little Lacie of the Enormous Brain got some fabulous news. Her insurance company has approved her brain surgery at the premiere institute for her diagnosis. I'm happy. I'm scared. She's scared for herself; this is brain surgery. It's getting closer and more real than ever.

My tiny little friend is strong though. She continues to try to live a life as normal as possible amidst her symptoms; dizziness, crushing headaches, brain fogginess, sensitivity to sounds. She's pretty successful at it; and I think mostly, people tend to forget she is struggling.

We chatted today. "I have been a fighter all my life. I watched my brother die right in front of me ~ I could have fallen apart ~ but I soldiered on. I had two hip surgeries with six weeks in a body cast both times. I had to learn how to walk again ~ twice . I was told I would always walk with a limp and not be athletic, so I threw myself into sports; swim team, soccer, pep squad, ran, rappelled down mountains, climbed peaks. Now it's just brain and spinal surgery. I've always stared down challenges in my life. I don't know how to do it differently."

Lace just wants to be normal again. She "hates being so self absorbed" (can you imagine?) To combat this, she has made friends with other sufferers of Chiari. They seem to want to meet her, to flock to the light that radiates from her. She finds this astounding – because she feels like she fakes her clarity most of the time. It makes sense to me - they need her warmth, her strength and her faith.

Holding other people up is a big responsibility – she's a little thing and now she's this brain tail stuff sticking out of her cranium, but she's still holding people up. She's still working out. She's still going to her daughter's cheer competitions. She's hosting sleep overs for 18 giggly girls, she's still working full time.

But sometimes, people forget that she has needs too. She gives until she's got nothing left to give. She leaves nothing for herself. I think that during the day, the seams start to tear, in her little bag of sanity she keeps so close. The she furiously sews the bag up at night so she can get through the next day.

The reality of her surgery is shoving its face into hers. And it's scary. I don't want her to be scared, or tired, or struggling to keep it all together. I just want her to be better. So we can see the new X-Files movie together when it comes out. So we can just go out for lunch. So we can go to Tibet (we have that all planned out, she'll climb the Himalayas, I'll ride on the back of a little sherpa).

So if you are reading this, say a little prayer for Big Little Lacie. Please. And thank you.

He versus She

Bee Gees Song of the Day: Come On Over

And if all my bad days came at once
You would know just what to do
Come on over
Baby, you would see me through

THE COLLEGE THEME PAPER: HE VS. SHE
--------------------------------------------------

Remember the book "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus"? Well, here's a prime example offered by an English professor at an American University.

"Today we will experiment with a new form called the tandemstory. The process is simple. Each person will pair off with the person sitting to his or her immediate right. One of you will then write the first paragraph of a short story. The partner will read the first paragraph and then add another paragraph to the story. The first person will then add a third paragraph, and so on back and forth. Remember to re-read what has been written each time in order to keep the story coherent. There is to be absolutely NO talking and anything you wish to say must be written on the paper. The story is over when both agree a conclusion has been reached." The following was actually turned in by two of my English students: Rebecca and Gary - last names deleted.

STORY: ---------
(First paragraph by Rebecca)
At first, Laurie couldn't decide which kind of tea she wanted. The chamomile, which used to be her favorite for lazy evenings at home, now reminded her too much of Carl, who once said, in happier times, that he liked chamomile. But she felt she must now, at all costs, keep her mind off Carl. His possessiveness was suffocating, and if she thought about him too much her asthma started acting up again. So chamomile was out of the question.

(Second paragraph by Gary)
Meanwhile, Advance Sergeant Carl Harris, leader of the attack squadron now in orbit over Skylon 4, had more important things to think about than the neuroses of an air-headed asthmatic bimbo named Laurie with whom he had spent one sweaty night over a year ago. " A.S. Harris to Geostation 17, he said into his transgalactic communicator. "Polar orbit established. No sign of resistance so far..." But before he could sign off, a bluish particle beam flashed out of nowhere and blasted a hole through his ship's cargo bay. The jolt from the direct hit sent him flying out of his seat and across the cockpit.

(Rebecca)
He bumped his head and died almost immediately but not before he felt one last pang of regret for psychically brutalizing the one woman who had ever had feelings for him. Soon afterwards, Earth stopped its pointless hostilities towards the peaceful farmers of Skylon 4. "Congress Passes Law Permanently Abolishing War and Space Travel," Laurie read in her newspaper one morning. The news simultaneously excited her and bored her. She stared out the window, dreaming of her youth, when the days had passed unhurriedly and carefree, with no newspapers to read, no television to distract her from her sense of innocent wonder at all the beautiful things around her. "Why must one lose one's innocence to become a woman?" she pondered wistfully.

(Gary)
Little did she know, but she had less than 10 seconds to live. Thousands of miles above the city, the Anu'udrian mothership launched the first of its lithium fusion missiles. The dim-witted wimpy peaceniks who pushed the Unilateral Aerospace Disarmament Treaty through the congress had left earth a defenseless target for the hostile alien empires who were determined to destroy the human race. Within two hours after the passage of the treaty the Anu'udrian ships were on course for Earth, carrying enough firepower to pulverize the entire planet. With no one to stop them, they swiftly initiated their diabolical plan. The lithium fusion missile entered the atmosphere unimpeded. The President in his top-secret Mobile submarine headquarters on the ocean floor off the coast of Guam, felt the inconceivably massive explosion, which vaporized poor, stupid, Laurie and 85 million other Americans. The President slammed his fist on the conference table. "We can't allow this! I'm going to veto that treaty! Let's blow 'em out of the sky!"

(Rebecca)
This is absurd. I refuse to continue this mockery of literature. My writing partner is a violent, chauvinistic semi-literate adolescent.

(Gary)
Yeah? Well, you're a self-centered tediousneurotic whose attempts at writing are the literary equivalent of Valium. "Oh shall I have chamomile tea? Or shall I have some other sort of F*CKING TEA??? Oh no, I'm such an air headed bimbo who reads too many Danielle Steele novels... I can't decide."

(Rebecca) Asshole.
(Gary) Bitch.
(Rebecca) Wanker.
(Gary) Slut.
(Rebecca) Get f*cked.
(Gary) Eat shit.
(Rebecca) F*CK YOU - YOU NEANDERTHAL!!!
(Gary) Go drink some tea - whore.

(Teacher) A+ ...I really liked this one!

Beautiful

Bee Gees Song of the Day: Every Christian Lion Hearted Man Will Show You

Don't walk so tall
Before you crawl
For every child
Is thinking of something wild

I was lamenting the aging process the other day. When I was young, I'll be the first to tell you that I looked great. Firm, taut, strong, a size 4, my ass excited the ardor of upper classmen. Well, one upper classman. But he was hot and I had a powerful crush on him. I was dating someone steadily at the time and so didn’t give in to my baser nature.

I’m fortunate; my face still looks young. I’ve gotten used to the bemused wonder on the faces of those who find out I have 3 grown children. Still, I’ve changed over the last 25 years. My roots need coloring, my wrinkles are deepening.

I’m no size 4.

I was admiring my daughter’s hands the other day. Smooth, slender, and lovely. I compared her hands to mine and mine came up wanting. Wanting botox. But my youngest child exclaimed, “Oh, I LOVE your hands!”

“You are just being nice, they are hideous.”

“Oh NO. Look at them, they’re beautiful!”

“Oh, really.” I was unimpressed.

“I look at these hands and I see life! I can see all the foreheads you’ve checked for fevers, all the neck rubs, the aspirins you gave us, the peanut butter sandwiches you’ve made. Do you know you are able to make a peanut butter sandwich with one swipe of the knife?” she kept stroking and admiring my hands as I stared at her with an open mouth.

“How do you make peanut butter spread across the bread like that? That amazes me! I tried to do that once and I just ripped the bread. These hands have washed thousands of dishes, folded tons of clothes, swept floors, driven me places. These hands have loved and hugged and lived! Look at my hands! They haven’t lived! They’ve done nothing! I love your hands! I think they are beautiful! And your face,” she started to smooth my cheeks. “Look at those lines! Look at those smile lines by your eyes! I love those, you’ve laughed so much, you’ve smiled so much, they make you so beautiful!”

I doubt that we ever see ourselves as others see us. 43 years of living day to day, laughing, crying, loving, hating; all that living marks us emotionally, intellectually and certainly physically.

Do we ever see ourselves as someone who loves sees us? Did I realize that the insignificant act of spreading peanut butter on a piece of bread caused wonder? Did I ever stop to consider the eyes of my children and what they saw? When I wept? When I hated? When I forgave? When I clapped? When I smiled? When I hugged?

I looked at my hands again. And I looked at my smile lines again. And I looked at my not-size-4 body again. And I was beautiful.

Hi Dad

It's human nature to apply human characteristics to things which are not human. I think that's called anthropomorphism (what a great word!). You know what I mean; like identifying the man on the moon, or seeing the Blessed Virgin Mary in a toasted cheese sandwich.

Humans think they are so superior. It's all about us.

Sometimes though, it's all about ME. Just go look at my URL name. I'm sufficiently self-absorbed that I take anything even remotely within my periphery and discern how it affects me. ME ME ME.

So now you have some background.

I miss my Dad. He died January 10, 1995 and I think about him every day. I sure could have used his unexampled strength, love and support during the last 13 years. I've had some rough moments.

He has 'allegedly' appeared in one form or another to certain family members at different times. Dreams, visions. Even once, when we were burying him in May, he physically showed himself to my then-husband. Smiled at him, appeared sad that my kids were crying, walked over in his unique bow-legged walk and stood next to my Mom.

Yeh. Thanks for making an appearance Dad. To the EX. Whatever.

But he does come to me. And in ways that I think make him smile, because Dad was a joker and he loved a good laugh and he knows I'd get it. And just to get back a little of my own, I think of him most powerfully when I drive by a farm and smell manure. If I smell silage or freshly cut grass for hay I think of him too, but mostly Dad, you smell like crap. Heheheheheheheh.

He's surprised me too. On the day of my son's wedding, I was driving to the church when Roger Whittaker came on the radio singing "The Last Farewell". I haven't heard that song in many years. I think Dad was just letting me know he was around and that he was at my son's wedding. I started to tear up, but didn't want to ruin my makeup. He had made me so happy.

Lately, I've had rather a lot to think about too. And as is my habit, while driving in to work, I tuned into Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen's Life is Worth Living on EWTN. Bishop Sheen was a favorite of Dad's and mine; 15 or 20 years ago, we had a few sets of his talks on tape and we would see who had memorized the most. It made us laugh to recite long passages of his tapes together. Yeah, I know. Who does that?

And this morning Bishop Sheen recited a favorite poem of ours from all those years ago. I recited a specific passage with him (stunned that it all came back so easily), and could almost hear Dad reciting it with me. So Hi Dad. :) Enjoyed the shout out today. I love you.

This is for Pah. An excerpt from "The Hound of Heaven" by Francis Thompson:

"Strange, piteous, futile thing !

Wherefore should any set thee love apart ?

Seeing none but I makes much of naught" (He said),

"And human love needs human meriting :

How hast thou merited --

Of all man's clotted clay the dingiest clot ?

Alack, thou knowest not

How little worthy of any love thou art !

Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee,

Save Me, save only Me ?

All which I took from thee I did but take,

Not for thy harms,

But just that thou might'st seek it in My arms.

All which thy child's mistake

Fancies as lost, I have stored for thee at home :

Rise, clasp My hand, and come !"

Halts by me that footfall :

Is my gloom, after all,

Shade of His hand, outstretched caressingly ?

"Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest,

I am He Whom thou seekest !

Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest me."

The Book Whore

Bee Gees Song of the Day: Surrender

This is my life story, I've been lost and found
In the final hour, turn my life around

And I surrender. take me for all time
Love as warm as wine, and I surrender

I’d been emailing a good friend this weekend and among the many things we discussed, we talked briefly about bookstores.

I may have told you before that I am a book whore. I love books. I love to read them and I love to own them. I’ll wear a ratty old corduroy jacket until my friends make fun of me and my kids take it and burn it without my knowledge, but if there is one thing I will buy; it's books. I like to go to the library book sales and buy lots of books for $10. It makes me ridiculously happy. A Barnes and Noble a few miles away sounds like nirvana; I can spend hours there smelling books and reading books and loving books. I don’t know if that’s part of my geek-y nature, but there you go.

The book whore in me has this fantasy of a library in her house with shelves up to the ceiling filled with books she has read or wants to read or thinks she should read or that she has collected. In a special little place in this room is a first edition "Pride and Prejudice" by Jane Austen. The book whore sneaks into the room sometimes just to look at the book. She would never touch it because it cost upwards of $210,000. She also has a book written by Agatha Christie signed by the author and one by Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen, similarly annotated.

The book whore next moves over to the shelf with a set of 10 Colliers Childrens' Books. These are on the bottom shelf so that she has to sit on the floor to reach them. She likes to pull those off and look at those occasionally. When she was three years old, she taught herself to read these books. She would hide in a corner of a room upstairs, losing herself in the words and pictures. And if she couldn’t see anyone, no one could see her. No one would bother her. The world disappeared behind pictures of teddy bears skipping, children sleeping, five Chinese brothers smiling, Scottish Terriers named Angus chasing cats, scary witch pictures, lost little girls looking for their mamas. While the book whore sits in this room, she is three years old again and no one can see her.

Never in my wildest dreams would I expect this to be fulfilled, but it is a happy place for me. A room with no echo, that feels heavily laden, that smells safe and makes me smile.

First Shop of Coffee Prince

You’ve heard it all before. Guy meets girl. Guy thinks girl is guy. Guy employs girl thinking she is a guy. Girl needs job and so girl allows guy to continue thinking she’s a guy. Guy starts to develop attraction to girl he thinks is a guy so guy thinks he might be gay. Girl develops feelings for guy who thinks he might be gay but fears guy might find out she’s a girl and reject her…him…her…whatever.

Our characters:

Go Eun Chan (GEC) – tomboy girl, heroine

Choi Han Keol (CHK) – Rich guy, hero

Choi Han Seong (CHS) – Rich guy’s cousin, sweet, cute

Han Yoo Joo (HYJ) – Other girl, nobody gives a sh*t

Ponder Angst – 20 points. The ponder angst in “Coffee Prince” was blessedly minimal. When there was angst, it was charged with emotion and struggle and you felt it. It was appropriate and good.

Love “ – “ Angles – Uhm, wow. OK, we actually have 7 angles here. GEC originally falls for CHS, CHS loves HYJ but HYJ broke his heart when she left him for DK (he doesn’t count, pay him no mind). Once GEC realizes CHS loves HYJ, she grieves and heals, but becomes attracted to CHK. HYJ comes to her senses, leaves DK for CHS. CHS decides to give the relationship another try, but has lingering feelings of mistrust and anger. CHK has secretly loved HYJ for years but out of love for his cousin, worships her from afar. CHK eventually becomes attracted to GEC, but struggles because he thinks she’s a he. CHS becomes confused after finding out that GEC had feelings for him and he begins to develop feelings other than friendship for her. HYJ despairs because everyone is attracted to tomboyish GEC, and no one likes her. She considers going back to DK. I’m not sure how I get 7 out of that, but that’s about all my brain can handle. Coffee Prince gets 28 points. It’s a crazy heptagon of love.

Sizzle – I’m going to give this a 17.85 for sizzle. The CHK man-angst and his struggle to fight the attraction he feels for GEC really heats up the screen. You ache for him when he finally gives in because he loves her so much AND because you know it’s only going to go bad when he finds out “he’s” a she. I don’t give it a full 20 because once our protagonists hook up, it can be compared to when Jeannie and the Master got married. I’m like, eh. Whatever.

Physical Intimacy – They get all 20 points here. The kisses were passionate, the intimacy was more than alluded to. There’s slam-er-against-the-wall passion, and a baby out of wedlock. No guessing is going on.

Tragic Heartwrenching Disease and/or Character Death from Same – Our constipation quotient (I just loving typing that). Amazingly, Coffee Prince only gets 5 points in this category. None of the main characters die, but someone does have a miscarriage. Gramma has cancer, but she beats it.

Going to the Beach – No bonus points. No one tries to commit suicide, no one even contemplates it. I was almost disappointed.

Overall, Coffee Prince gets an 90.85 out of a possible 100 points. And that’s about right. There was a great deal about this series that I liked. The honesty between all of the main characters was a big one. There were no palace machinations, no e-ville girlfriend on the make to get the rich guy. Even during the whole labyrinth of he likes her and she likes him but then falls for he/she, the characters were honest about it.

I was moved by CHK’s struggle with his attraction toward GEC. He fought it by trying to maintain a simple friendship, but his feelings were too powerful. When he tries to cast her aside, you could feel the pain that emanates from him. When he finally gives in, you could sense that he is at peace. It was all very well done and was very touching.

I’m such a tool of western television; once the protagonists declared themselves, some of the delight went out of the viewing. I thrilled that all the characters had happy endings; we came full circle for each one of them and the closure was lovely. Nice series. Will I watch again? Probably not.