Hazy, lazy day

What is it about outside that sparks my creativity and urges me to put words into legible sentences?  I am not an outdoors person.  Ashamedly I prefer to nap on a Sunday afternoon (or Monday or Tuesday or Wednesday, etc.) rather than go and enjoy the outside.  I think it’s the south Mississippi weather that keeps me indoors.  Rarely is the weather pleasant enough to be outside.  There’s just a small window of opportunity when it is not too hot, or too cold, or too dry or too much pollen.  Today one of those windows opened and here I sit on my porch with my dog listening to the rain and hoping the wind will be still enough to keep the rain off of the porch and away from my electronics. 

Our goats are not very happy about the rain.  We’ve locked them in the front pasture and they can’t get to the barn.  Its okay, they have a shelter.  Eddie, the male goat, is usually so quiet you can’t hear his bleat, but just now when the rain came heavy he positively bellowed to his ladies to follow him and he galloped to his little house.  The ladies, with their pregnant bellies, followed slowly but they didn’t seem to mind the rain as much as Eddie.  And like most Mississippi rainfalls, it was over by the time they reached their little house so they just plopped on the ground in the wide openness instead.  Poor Eddie.  He doesn’t have much say so.  His big horns show dominance, but the real power in the family lies with the ladies.  Like Mary’s little lamb he follows them wherever they go.

Unlike the goats I love the rain.  It is really the only reason I am out here today.  I revel in the coolness it brings on a hot day, the way it refreshes the air and brings out the scent of the pine and grass and dirt, and the tinkling sound it makes as it hits the different surfaces on the ground. All these things awaken my senses.  Sometimes I wonder if I would rather live in a place where rain is prevalent.  I hear so many people talk about depression from too many gray days, but I think I would thrive in such a climate.  I detest hot sun and sticky humidity.  Give me a breezy rainy day and I’ll even leave my napping couch to enjoy it.

Along with rain there are so many other sounds that bring me comfort.  Next to me I hear windchimes, but in the distance I hear roosters crowing, my husband on his tractor, wind, birds, and frogs.  These are my sounds of home.  I especially enjoy the windchimes.  Most people would probably think they are annoying, and that I have too many.  Well, maybe I do have too many, but I think they are comforting.  When my oldest son was just a baby his grandmother gave me a set of windchimes and I hung them outside his bedroom window.  I could hear them from my own bed as well.  He never minded the sound.  In fact, I had another very small set I hung on his ceiling fan pull chain.  When he was older I went to remove them and he wouldn’t let me.  I guess I associate the sound of the chimes with having small children in my life.  The sound of the chimes keep the quiet away, and now that my children are mostly grown and I no longer have small children under my feet the quiet tends to creep in when I least expect it. 

Now the window is closing.  The air has gone from cool to cold and the wind is blowing the rain sideways and threatening my electronics.  My napping couch awaits me.  Till next time.

Don't worry, be happy

Today was not a good day for me.  It was one of those days when nothing went right, my job was overwhelming and people annoyed me.  All of these things combined together kept my temper short and my patience nil.  Days like today remind me that I need to pull back and not take out my irritations on those around me or people I have to speak to on the phone.  I think there is girl in China who is afraid of me now.

Sometimes we are not aware how impactful even the smallest things we say or do in our everyday lives can be to others. The way we treat people, the things we give people may seem insignificant at the time, but can have lasting implications. I was reminded of this today by a comment a friend made. Yesterday was my birthday, so last night I posted an album of pictures of me on my earliest birthdays and scanned pictures of some birthday cards dating back to my first birthday. First of all, I would never have had these buried treasures if my mother had not had the sentimentality to save them for me. She had a file folder in her filing cabinet for each one of us, and she kept mementos of our lives in those files. She gave me mine several years ago to take home, and I just stuffed it in a box for later. Well, last night was my later, and I was astonished at how many birthday cards and pictures she had actually kept for me. This small act on my mother’s part salvaged memories for me that otherwise I would have never recollected on my own.

One of the cards I found was a birthday card my sister, Barbara had given me on my 10th birthday. On the front is a picture of Holly Hobby, a hobby of mine at one time, with the title, A Birthday Greeting, Sister - With Loving Memories. She had stuffed it with pictures of Holly Hobby she had cut out of other things.  There are two things about my sister that anyone who knew her or knew of her will confirm. She never forgot a birthday. Never. If you were any friend to her at all you would receive a birthday card from her every year. The second thing about her is she wrote the year in the bottom right corner of every card she sent. How else would I have known she gave me that particular card in 1976? Bless her for that. It's because of her I find myself doing the same thing with cards, Christmas ornaments, pictures, etc. etc.  When I found that card from her it was like she was sending me a birthday card from heaven and a gift of those cut-outs as well. As it said, A Birthday Greeting, Sister - With Loving Memories. Loving memories, indeed.  I’m sure in 1976 shortly after she graduated from college and was starting her teaching career she would have never guessed that 30 years later the simple act of sending a birthday card to her baby sister would be so important to her. 

You see, these small things, like the "in on the secret" wink my brother-in-law John used to give me, the silly postcards and letters my friend Jimmy and I used to exchange, the satsumas I shared with my four-year old nephew one December afternoon, the positive acknowledgements we give and receive for a job well done or just to be thoughtful; these small things are the things that make memories and lasting impressions, even if we don't realize it at the time. These are gifts that cost us little or nothing to give, but invaluable to receive.

Inevitably I will have more bad days like today and my irritations will show, but hopefully I will think of my sister’s heaven-sent birthday greeting and my mother’s foresight to preserve my childhood and I will stop before I give those around me unpleasant memories of me.  Life is too short to spend it spreading ill will.  It is much more enjoyable to spread the Loving Memories.

Angels amongst us?

I recently had an odd experience.  What makes it really odd is the fact that this event wasn’t the first time I’ve had the same type of experience.  I mentioned this on Facebook, so for those of you who might read this twice, I apologize, but I'm trying to sort it out.

Several years ago, and by several I mean more than 10, I went with my sisters and my mother to a merchandise show in New Orleans.  To get on the selling floor you had to wear a nametag to confirm your worthiness.  Being a seasoned conference attendee I know to remove my nametag as soon as I leave a venue so as not to call attention to myself and invite strangers to become too familiar.  On the way home we stopped at a truck stop in Slidell to eat supper and buy lottery tickets.   Two things my family has always enjoyed are food and lottery tickets.  (I’ve heard of late that one sister enjoys the scratch off tickets so much she will resort to claiming a prize possibly belonging to someone else.  But that’s another story.)  We sat down at a table, and a waitress came and took our order.  I don’t remember whose order she took first, but I remember she took my order last.  She was standing to my right the entire order-taking time, and when she made it around the table to me, this waitress I had never seen before she first approached our table, looked at me and said, “What can I get for you, Elizabeth?”   No one else at the table seemed to hear her but me.  I didn’t really know how to respond except to give her my order.  I remember thinking she must have read my nametag, but being a seasoned conference attendee I had removed my nametag as soon as we left the convention center in New Orleans.

The second experience I had was this past Saturday night in New Orleans.  My husband and children took me to New Orleans for an early birthday celebration.  We went to an indoor/outdoor restaurant and sat outside.  All of the servers were outfitted in their best and brightest Saints jerseys in honor of the home game being played across town later that evening.  I left the table and went inside to go to the restroom.  In this place there is a ramp that goes up from the dining room to the kitchen and restrooms.  When I started up the ramp a young waiter wearing his best and brightest black and gold was coming down the ramp from the kitchen.  As we passed each other he gently clutched my upper arm and said, “Happy New Year, Miss Elizabeth,” and kept on walking.  At first I thought maybe he was one of my international students or student workers, because they are the only ones who call me “Miss” Elizabeth.  His accent was foreign indeed, but only as foreign as any other Louisianan.  No, this guy was American, I’m sure, and I’m sure I’ve never met him before in my life.

When I posted this on Facebook a friend asked me if I had any theories.  Actually, I have been mulling over a few.  The simplest explanation is these two people overheard someone else say my name and repeated it to be friendly and familiar.  But I think this is a pessimist’s opinion, and I am an eternal optimist.  My glass is always at least ¾ full.

The part of me that knows there is more to life than life believes there is a definite spiritual intervention going on here.  The part of me that feels in my bones that there is more to reincarnation than a cosmic do-over believes that these people, or souls, I encountered are souls I may have known in another time.  They might not even know they called me by name, it might be some subliminal action they are unaware of effecting.

Again drawing on the spiritual theme, they could be “angels unawares” as another friend noted.  Messengers from God with a message in their short acknowledged greeting affirming yes, Elizabeth, I know you.  You are so important I know your name, as in Jeremiah 1:5, “Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee…”

Maybe they are not even angels, but the Almighty Himself using these two servers as instruments to convey the same message.  Maybe I have even given this same message of affirmation to someone without even realizing it.  Maybe we all do.

My final theory so far (there may be more at a later date) is really remote, but nothing is impossible to this ¾ full optimist.  Like Douglas Adams' unsuspecting rain god, maybe I am famous and don’t even know it.  But apparently, I’m only famous to the food service industry in Louisiana.

The year's ending

The year 2011 drew to a close two days ago, but my vacation time ends tonight.  I like my job, but I certainly haven’t stayed in it for 22 years because of the money.   There are many reasons I haven’t tried for something with a higher income, but one of the reasons is because of the vacation time.   In addition to the earned time I receive each month, I also get the last two weeks of the year starting right before Christmas and ending right after New Year’s Day.  These are the two weeks I look forward to every year.  It is during this time I can relax and enjoy the holidays without the stress of having to get up and go to a job the day before and after Christmas.  It is also nice to be home with my children during their school holidays.  

Some years my two weeks seem to fly by, and some weeks they are slow and easy.  This year has been one of those slow and easy years.  Whenever I have left my house it has been for reasons I’ve wanted to, not because of things I had to do.  Here are the highlights of my vacation time:

Family Christmas party on the Monday night before Christmas with my in-laws.  A great night, but carelessness on my part led to a broken tooth. 

The next day was a work day, but I left early to get my tooth fixed.  It was a cheating start to my vacation, but I did not want to wait for my tooth to start hurting before it was fixed.

On Thursday I was able to spend the whole day with my oldest friend and travelling partner who was in town for Christmas. We travelled in town this time, visiting graves of our dearly departed while the rain poured on and off all day.  We discovered the Christmas Miracle of the Grass Heart on the graves of my parents. We then made a short trip to Bogalusa and back to stock up on frozen concoctions for a party the next night.

Friday I made fudge and cookies, something I had wanted to do sooner but could not find the ambition to get it going.  Later that night I went to the party where the aforementioned frozen concoctions were served.  Other attendees at this party were my oldest friend and travelling partner (i.e. co-discoverer of the CMGH *see above*), some extended family members and my second family who helped raise me.  Fun times with fun people.

Saturday, Christmas Eve, was a relaxing day.  I went to mass with my family but I had to move away from an obnoxious loud-mouth behind me who was dampening my Christmas spirit.  If I had stayed in my seat I would have said some words to him that were not Christian-like, so I signaled my husband that we had to make the move.  I could still hear the man whispering loudly, but luckily when the music started he either shut up or I tuned him out.

Christmas Day was a most enjoyable day.  My children seemed genuinely pleased with their gifts as was my husband with his new iPad.  I think I finally surprised him.  The rest of the day was spent with my sisters and brothers, nieces and nephews.   Good food, good people, good gifts, good times.

The day after Christmas my sisters, brother and I made a final sweep of our parents’ house to get it ready for the new tenants.  I took pictures of practically every inch of the house and yard to remember it.  I just wish I had done it before we moved everything out of it.  

The rest of the week was spent doing much of nothing.  There was some good sleeping and many hours consuming mass quantities of old movies on TCM.  Some people may consider this boring.  I consider it a Christmas treat.  

The week and year ended with New Year’s Eve party at my house.  I don’t often have parties other than family birthday celebrations for my children and a Sunday lunch a couple of times throughout the year, so this party was special for me.  My husband built a huge fire to burn things he had been saving to burn, and the weather was perfect for spending time outside.  All in all I think the evening went very well.  I enjoy having people in my house.  My pets did not share my enthusiasm, and they were happy when everyone left and they could come out of hiding.

New Year’s Day was another enjoyable day with my in-laws, but thankfully I didn’t break anything this time.  

So here it is, the last couple of hours of my vacation.  Tomorrow will be business as usual.  It will be a busy month, January always is.  My life and my job are always going full speed in January with birthdays (three), deadlines, new semester, new students, and a new year altogether.  Speaking of a new year, I have only one resolution which I am keeping to myself as I think resolutions should be.  We’ll see what 2012 has to offer.  If the year will be anything like the last two weeks it will be a good year indeed.

Quiet night

I’ve had a long day filled with fun and exciting things, yet I’m finding it impossible to sleep.  Maybe it’s because I fell asleep on the couch for a little while before bedtime, or maybe it’s because of the incessant alarm my ADT box keeps sending out saying “trouble”.  I know when the beeping starts a phone call from ADT will follow, so I guess I psyched myself out of sleeping waiting on the phone call and the next round of trouble alarms that will surely follow all night long.  I finally had it out with ADT on the phone at 1:00 a.m., so a technician will be here in two weeks to look at the problem, again.  Yes, two weeks, but the customer service lady assured me someone will call me within 24-48 hours to move that date up and send out a download to disable the trouble alarm.  They will call later because I assured her I was not staying up 20 minutes to two hours longer to wait on their call this morning.  Yet here I am awake anyway, washing clothes and complaining.

Usually when I can’t sleep I use my insomnia as an excuse to get up and write.  But I can’t think of anything to write about.  Christmas is only three days away.  I guess I could write about that.  I have been thinking about Santa a lot lately.  I remember how much I loved waiting on Santa, but he scared me, too.  The thought of waking up and seeing him sent enough fear through me to send me straight to bed to hide under the covers.  I remember one year I heard him walking up to my crib. 

 Let me take a moment to explain something.  I grew up in a four bedroom house with three brothers, three sisters, two parents, and a grandmother.  The grandmother got her own room plus a sitting room, the parents got a room, the boys all shared a room, two sisters shared one room and my pesky sister somehow finagled the grandmother’s sitting room all to herself.  That left me sleeping in a crib in my parents’ room for more years than any child should ever have to sleep in a crib.  I mean, when you’re sitting up in your crib doing your homework something is wrong with the picture.

Anyway, as I was saying, one year I heard Santa walking slowly up to my bed (i.e. crib), the floorboards creaking ever so slightly under his feet.  When he got to me he stopped and looked at me.  I didn’t see him looking at me of course because I was frozen with fear with eyes shut tightly, but I could feel his gaze upon me.  After a brief time I heard him slowly walk away and out of the room.  I think I must have passed out then because I didn’t wake and pull down the railing until morning.

My mother was always up early on Christmas morning tending to the turkey.  She would baby a turkey in the oven from the wee hours of the morning until it was time to eat.  She would always ask me if I thought Santa came, always instilling just enough doubt in me to send my stomach into knots wondering if he did indeed come afterall.  I couldn’t see into the living room to be sure if he came because of the sheet my father would have hung in the doorway the night before to keep us from peeking.  And I never peeked.  Truly, I did not.  Despite that shade of doubt Santa always came.  Always.

This year I will celebrate my 45^th Christmas.  When I go to bed on Christmas Eve I will have that same feeling I have had all of these 45 years waiting on Santa.  I will lie in bed in anticipation of the footsteps I once heard so long ago.  I will listen for the sleigh bells and the thump of reindeer hooves on the roof.   And on Christmas morning I will ask my children if he came, even though they are teenagers and probably no longer believe he does come.  But I do.  I believe in Santa because my parents never, never ever till their dying day told me otherwise.  And I heard his footsteps that night.  I felt his loving gaze upon me.  If that isn’t proof there is a Santa, then I don’t know what is.

The alarm has been quiet for awhile, the clothes are done washing, and I’m finally beginning to feel just a little bit sleepy.  I guess I’ll turn the tree lights off and go to bed.  I feel visions of sugarplums beginning to dance in my head.

The girl in the picture, the one beside me

I’m sitting here reading the comments people have made on my Facebook profile picture.  It is a picture of my sister, Barbara, and I on Christmas morning probably in 1968 or ’69 if I had to guess.  She’s modeling an Indian dress and necklace, and I’m holding her finger and seem to be quite happy it’s Christmas and I got a new doll buggy.  She looks like she would rather be in the picture alone, but I’m hanging in there so she goes along with it.  I changed the picture tonight to one of the two of us, again on Christmas morning, probably taken in 1984 or ’85, if I had to guess.  This time I am not gripping her finger, but we both seem to be happy about whatever is going on off camera.  It was Christmas, so of course we were happy.  

I think of Barbara the most at Christmas.  I think it was her favorite day of the year, much less her favorite holiday.  She was like a child at Christmas.  I remember one year while waiting on the rest of the family to get to Mama’s house on Christmas morning, she got so excited she threw up.  Mind you, she was probably 30.   I don’t think she would care I shared this with the world, because I laughed at her all day about it, and every year thereafter, so she was used to it.

It’s funny how I can’t remember the little details of our last Christmas together at Mama’s house.  The year would have been 1992.  I know this because the next year was the first year my family spent Christmas away from Mama’s.  We spent it at my sister, Marilyn’s new house.  It was large enough for us to spread out, and I think we were going to make a new tradition of it.  That was also the same year on Thanksgiving Day Barbara gave my two sisters and me matching silver Santa pendants.   I probably didn’t think much of it at the time, but I do now.  In fact every Thanksgiving I don my Santa pendant and wear it everyday until Christmas.  I think of her as I wear it Christmas shopping and feel her with me.  I silently consult with her on certain purchases to see if they would be something she would buy.  Afterall, she was the master shopper.

The next year, Christmas 1994, was another break of tradition for my family.  We didn’t spend it at Marilyn’s house, or Mama’s.  No, we spent it at my brother’s house in Birmingham, Alabama, because Barbara was in a coma in the heart transplant unit at the UAB hospital.  I remember rushing Christmas morning at my own house with my then 15 month-old son so we could get in the car and get to Birmingham as fast as we could.  That was the year Barbara gave the entire family the best Christmas present she ever gave anyone.  That was the year when all of us, all seven plus her husband, were piled in her tiny ICU room amid the machines and tubing, and she surfaced from her coma just enough to smile at us when we told her it was Christmas and we were all there with her.  She did not come all the way out of her coma on that day, but I know she knew we were there.  I’m certain of it.

There is a bond shared by sisters and brothers that is only loosed in death.  I don’t think it can ever be broken entirely.  In life you share the same parents, family, history, heritage and home.  That piece of me that was the bond between Barbara and me fell asleep with her and I have felt an empty place in my being ever since.  Most times the emptiness is shallow, but sometimes, like Christmas, it gets a little deeper.  Along with our bond, the magic Christmas once held for me fell asleep as well.

Had it not been for the need to create a Christmas spirit for my children I think I would have given up long ago.  Not that there have not been glimmers here and there of what it used to be.   And this year will be the first Christmas without my mother, the true driving force of the holiday.  She and Barbara shared the same zeal for Christmas.  The joy they both shared for this one day of the year was overflowing.  When you combine that overflowing joy and multiply it by the number of Christmases they had between them, then surely there is still enough of that joy floating around out there to shine down on me for years to come.

The first Christmas without is always the hardest, especially, when you have had the best all of the years before.  But with all that joy shining down from Mama and Barbara, then I’m sure I’ll “muddle through somehow”.

A little shopping goes a long way

My Christmas spirit so far has been about a quart low this year.  Putting up my tree and all that goes with it is more of a chore than a pleasure; even though I do enjoy the way my house feels after it is all done.   My sorry back does not like me to stand for long, so it has taken over a week to do everything, and I’m still not done.  So yesterday I got it in my head I was going to go Christmas shopping to lift my spirits and give me the boost I need to finish decorating.   I left home at not quite 10:00 a.m.  with my iPod tuned to my Christmas playlist (courtesy of my friends and their Christmas Spectacular spectacular). 

My first stop was Hobby Lobby, a quest my oldest friend and travelling partner sent me on in search of peacock ornaments for her tree.  I did not find them, but I did find some lovely, glittery silver swans.  I reported in to her of my trophy, but she did not seem to want them so I left them at the store.  I almost bent to the temptation for myself, but my tree already has so many birds on it I’m sure it will fly away before New Year’s.  I then walked down to TJMaxx where I spent way too much time but knocked out over half my list.  A very productive trip, I must say. By the time I checked out my back was beginning to creak.  I should have stopped there.  But, no.  I drove on down to Tuesday Morning, but as it was Saturday there was nothing new in the store since the last time I was there so that was a wasted trip. Next stop, Kohl’s with a 20% off coupon in hand.  Again, spent way too much time but crossed a couple of more names off my list so I was happy. By then my sorry back was in full hurt and getting that slipping feeling.  I should have stopped there.  But, no.

I make it a rule to stay away from the mall.  I do most of my shopping online, so the mall is not a necessity in my life.  But Steinmart has moved to the mall and I have not been there in years, so I went anyway.  I quickly scouted the store so I could go out into the mall to get a coke to chase down a muscle relaxer and pain pill.  What I should have done was get in my car and go home.  But, no.  At some point while I was watching the robotic arm grab my selection and the little door open for me to retrieve it, something happened to my left heel.  It couldn’t bear my weight and I ended up dragging my foot through the mall.  Yes, the entire mall.  I felt that since I was there I would go ahead and make sure there wasn’t anything I wanted.  There wasn’t.

By the time I finally left that dreadful place it was after 2:00 p.m. and I still had stores on my list.  I hobbled to the parking lot and eased myself down into my car and somehow found the strength to shut the door.  Thankfully, the few minutes it took to drive from the mall to the Target shopping center gave my back and heel the time they needed to rest to give me a second wind.  I knew I was tired when I went into Books-A-Million and only looked at a couple of hundred.  I ended up walking the length of the shopping center twice, going in and out of stores along the way.  This is not good for me because I have to pass a Pet Smart twice in my journey and there are always rescue dogs out in front of the store on Saturdays.  There was one little tan Daschund mix blinking his eyes into the wind, a flirtatious ploy to get me to stop. I did not, because had I there would have been another dog or two I would have had to feed this morning.

I finally made it home around 4:00 p.m. and crashed on the couch with no intention of ever getting up.  After a good rest I pulled out my laptop and finished the majority of my shopping online.  I’ve only got one or two more stops at a store to return something and buy one more thing, and then I will be done with store shopping for quite a while.  At least until next year, God willing.