Two Simple Resolutions, and a Book Recommend

Happy New Year!

There is something about a brand new year. I always feel this burst of energy to clear away clutter and start over. Deep cleaning my desk and my kitchen usually satisfies me.

This year, my obsession is worse than ever. When we walked back into our house last Saturday after being away for 10 days, 10 gloriously care-free days surrounded by the simple, spare decor of a mountain cabin, my first thought was.........."UGH!"

Everywhere I looked, I saw "stuff." Suddenly, all my collections, vignettes, tableaux, and displays of precious memoribilia just looked like too much stuff. And while I've never really gotten into the art of Feng Shui, I suddenly find myself craving clear spaces, smooth pathways, the Zen of empty.

I've been re-looking at all my "stuff" and am slowly making thoughtful piles to donate. Most of it is stuff I originally acquired from some other woman's pile of donations, in the form of finds that made me salivate in my favorite thrift stores.

My house was stuffed with other people's stuff.

My progress is slow, but already I do see improvement. I want to enjoy having less, needing less. I will get there if it takes me all year.

And.......this is hard to say........I am going to make an effort to stay out of thrift stores for awhile. I know, I know, I may suffer painful withdrawal. But my thinking at this point is that, if I don't see it, I won't decide I need it. All my "deals" and small purchases do add up, and it's time to tighten my purse strings. Past time, rather. We all knew our splurge in Sunriver was a last hurrah.

That's my first resolution. To live with less, to embrace having less, to seek having less.

My other one is simple, too. I've decided that, for the next seven days, everything that goes into my mouth will be healthy and good for me, and everything that comes out of my mouth will be respectful.

I can only take this resolution for seven days at a time, for reasons which should be obvious to any human being, women especially. The thought of not eating a single treat for a whole year is just too impossible to swallow.

And the temptation to use my vocabulary for a smart remark, a muttered barb, a quick defense, a sarcastic quip, or a "justified" rant is, frankly, too often there. I'm good with words. So's my daughter. It gets us both in trouble, and usually with each other.

I'll report back later on how my seven days went.

Now for a book recommend.

I just finished Origin by Diana Abu-Jaber and thought it was good. A mystery, nothing too gory or too explicit. She's a terrific writer. Breathtaking descriptions! Here's what the plot summary on the back of the book says: "Secretly, in her heart of hearts, Lena Dawson hides the strangest of beliefs about her childhood. A superb fingerprint analyst in a crime lab in snowy Syracuse, New York, she feels totally out of place. A mysterious series of crib deaths leads her to solve the most difficult puzzle of all -- the one of her own origins." This one kept me turning pages and waking up early to read another chapter.

Happy New Year again! May we all be blessed with what is good and right and true in 2009.

Season's Greetings from Sunriver, Oregon

When we unlocked the cabin's front door and stepped inside, I had to hold back the tears. Tears of joy, that is.

I should have gotten a clue to what was in store when I noticed that the front steps and porch had been freshly shoveled. Once inside, we were greeted by soft music playing on the stereo and a cozy fire already lit in the gas stove in the corner. A welcome basket filled with gourmet cookies, a savory snack mix, an assortment of chocolates, and a bottle of wine was centrally placed on the kitchen counter.

The place was literally screaming "WELCOME!"

Oohing and awwing followed as we wandered around the rooms, tastefully decorated with "cabin decor" and attention to detail filling every cozy corner. Big fluffy pillows on the beds. A sofa and chairs that spoke "come sit here, sink in and stay awhile." Oversized fleece throws to wrap around our shoulders. A kitchen filled with everything we could possibly need and then some. An enclosed back deck with a hot tub. Huge pine trees all around, adding to the feelings of seclusion.

Peace.

It has been four years since our last family vacation. I was bound and determined that we would get in "one more" before Sam goes off to graduate school and into the rest of his life, with Rebecca right behind him. Bound and determined......more like hell-bent. You all know how I am when it comes to my family. I do think about things like how family vacations with the four of us won't be easy to accomplish too many more times. It's been impossible, as a matter of fact, over these past four years. Summer jobs or internships, differing spring breaks, and differing family temperaments made family vacations together a thing of the past.

Or so I thought.

All of our family vacations have involved "roughing it" in one form or another. While I do love cooking over a campfire, I wanted something more this time around. Something really special. Something wonderful to add to the family memory bank.

Looking ahead to the December holidays and figuring it to be the best time for us all to be "off" from school and work at the same time, I actually started the process of searching for the perfect getaway last January. For awhile, I dreamed of Hawaii. Then I was very attracted to Belize. Mexico?

Way, way, way out of our price range.

So, long story short, here we are near Bend, Oregon, just a half-days drive from home. A half-days drive and a world away from our daily routines, schedules, deadlines, stresses, hassles. How did I find this place? Through the wonders of the internet and a website called Vacation Rentals By Owner. I will definitely use this tool again, as what I found for us is exceeding my wildest dreams.

We went sledding today. The snow was perfect. Lots of deep, fresh powder fell overnight, transforming everything into the most beautiful winter wonderland. After a few trips down the hill myself, I was more content to sit on a hay bale and sip hot chocolate, watching Mark and the kids and our dog Mocha race each other.

The dog won, every time.

We will be here ten days. Ten glorious days. Days filled with outdoor activities, shopping excursions (gotta find the best thrift stores in Bend!!), local exploration. Evenings filled with meals we take turns preparing, card and board games (we are currently hooked on Bananagrams and a dominoes game called Mexican Train), watching movies, eating popcorn, reading books.......

OK, I just let out those tears after all. I am just so happy right now. My heart is full and I feel very, very blessed. This is my most special Christmas memory in the making.

Christmas morning (and I do expect to be awakened by the youngest member of the family, just like every year since she was about four) there will be just a few small things that "Santa" brought, tucked in near the fire for us to open. The real gift this Christmas is this gift we have given to each other. Time to be together. Time to talk, time to play, time to strengthen the bond. No distractions other than the free wireless internet service that enables me to do what I am doing right now. writing this blog while I am anticipating the penne pasta with Italian sausage and a fresh Caesar salad that's being prepared in the kitchen tonight, by someone other than me! (I was a tiny bit worried that the kids would retreat to their rooms with their laptops for the week, but so far that hasn't happened. This is huge, considering they are both in college and have facebook pages and email and love to look at fun stuff on You Tube or whatever.)

Merry Christmas. And God bless us, every one. Bless us with knowing the difference between wishing for/wanting what we can't have, and being happy with what we do have. So it ain't Hawaii. So instead of warm sunshine and miles of sandy beach, it's pale winter sunshine and deep fresh snow.

I have everything I've ever wanted, right here, right now.

The Leader of the Band

The leader of the band is tired

And his eyes are growing old

Dear Dad,

It’s Sunday evening. I have been thinking about you almost constantly all week, thinking about you way over there in Indianapolis, in the hospital again.

Again. I’ve lost count of how many times that makes in the past 12 months. Miraculously, you always seem to pull through it, every time. The combination of the power of all of our prayers, your positive attitude, and your very special sense of humor seems to work wonders.

But we all know that you are growing older, weaker, more tired with each passing day, with every hospital stay. Even though we keep our hopes up, we all know that none of us lives forever. We all know that we will someday have to go on, somehow, without you.

We will then most surely be looking forward to the day we will see each other again, in the life after this one.

There were so many things I wanted to say to you when Mark and I visited you and Mom in August. I tried to say them a couple of times, even tried to make a point to get you all to myself, alone out on your back deck. But I don’t think either one of us was completely ready. Instead, we were blessed with a few days of making a few more great memories together: fishing, playing dominoes, working a crossword puzzle, watching the hummingbirds and cardinals.

I’m ready to say those things to you now. I need to say those things to you now.

But his blood runs through my instrument

And his song is in my soul

You are a great dad. Fun, funny, wonderful father.

When I think about it, a lot of who and what I am today is due to your influence and example.


Sure, Mom was the more day-to-day “hands on” parent, and I know I mostly take after her when it comes to so many things, like organizing events and activities, doing all kinds of crafts, taking care of all the details, and sometimes agonizing over what other people think. The ratio of hours I talk to her to the hours I talk to you is probably something like 100 to 1. She’s the mirror I hold up to myself.

But you, you are the parent who gave me the music in my soul. It’s no accident that I eventually took up the dulcimer and taught myself to play it. It’s no accident that your grandson is the saxophone player that he is. That your granddaughter loves to sing. Your ability to pick up and play just about anything has always amazed me, and is the source of a great deal of wonderful childhood memories.


YOU are my sunshine.


My life has been a poor attempt
To imitate the man
I'm just a living legacy
To the leader of the band


You are the leader of the band. I think about you every time I hear this song on the radio, and about parts of my life being an “attempt” to imitate you. Working in my garden, filling my bird feeders, reading books about bees, listening to and singing along with old songs,…….with your quiet example, you taught me to enjoy all of these and other simple pleasures of life.


I also try to see the humor in every stressful situation, though I don’t always succeed like you do.


The leader of the band. You were the strong glue that held our family together. You worked hard, sometimes at two jobs, to make sure we all had everything we needed and then some. I will never know all the sacrifices you made for your wife and six kids. But please believe me, I do appreciate all you did to raise me.


He earned his love
Through discipline
A thundering, velvet hand
His gentle means of sculpting souls
Took me years to understand


When I was standing with you in your kitchen in August, you started talking about the times you used your belt on us kids. I could tell you were feeling bad about that, and I said something just to make light of it. Daddy, it’s OK! You and Mom raised us in an era when most people spanked their kids, and probably a lot more often than you did. The few times I do remember “meeting Charlie,” I also remember that I deserved it or drove you to it. Being a parent myself, I now completely understand those frustrations.


I thank you for the music
And your stories of the road
I thank you for the freedom
When it came my time to go --
I thank you for the kindness
And the times when you got tough
And, Papa, I don't think I
Said 'I love you' near enough --

The list of things I want to thank you for is long. Thank you for things like Christmas trees and presents magically appearing on Christmas morning. Thank you for Sunday cool-off rides and ice cream cones. Thank you for teaching me to fish. Thank you for games like Dead Mouse. Thank you for letting us “sneak” and stay up late watching scary movies with you. Thank you for all the popcorn, and for making us ice cream out of snow. Thank you for hikes in the woods, and for knowing so many things about animals, plants, folklore. Thank you for driving me to and from all my high school events, along with any of my friends who also needed a ride, even at the last minute. Thank you for looking so proud of me the day I graduated from college. Thank you for walking me down the aisle and putting my hand in Mark’s. Thank you for letting your grandchildren climb all over you.


Thank you for being the kind of Dad who lived up to the expectation that he would walk on his hands at every family reunion.


Thank you for being the kind of Dad whose creativity and resourcefulness provided our family’s famous “box on top of the car.”


Thank you for being the kind of Dad who rides a horse home from the mall.


Thank you for being the kind of Dad who jokes with his nurses about not shaving his beard because he’s had it since third grade. Who tells his doctors to make sure to tune the wires holding his sternum together to the key of G.


Thank you for being the kind of Dad who can make me laugh so hard I can’t see or breathe. Thank you for every single funny thing you’ve ever said, from “gweet” and “chout” to “beats hittin’ a dog.”


Thank you for showing all of us how to behave when faced with difficulty, when things get beyond our control. For reminding us that it’s OK to laugh, that it’s good to laugh, even when things don’t seem all that funny.


And, Papa, I don't think I
Said 'I love you' near enough –


I love you, Dad. With all my heart.


The leader of the band is tired
And his eyes are growing old
But his blood runs through
My instrument
And his song is in my soul --
My life has been a poor attempt
To imitate the man
I'm just a living legacy
To the leader of the band


I am the living legacy
To the leader of the band.

Love you,

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas

I love holiday traditions.

Every Thanksgiving, I cook up a storm on Tuesday evening, Wednesday afternoon/evening, and Thanksgiving Day morning/early afternoon.

Rebecca always decorates and sets the table. She takes pride in making it look special.

Then we all enjoy the same exact dinner every year: appetizers of fresh veggies and dips, my cheese ball and crackers, roasted turkey, herbed stuffing, mashed potatoes, turkey gravy, baked whole sweet potatoes, lemon-pepper green beans, cranberry-orange relish, fresh hot rolls, pumpkin pie, rhubarb pie, cranberry spritzer, and big glasses of milk. For the past couple of years, a really good white wine also graces the table. (One of the many perks of having adult children!)

Mark and Sam take care of all the clean up.

Then, for the rest of the weekend, Mama don't cook no more. It's everyone help yourself to all the bounty in the fridge whenever hunger strikes. Just remember to seal the lids on all that tupperware, and put your dirty dishes in the sink. Someone will load the dishwasher later.

Then, on Saturday night, we choose a first-run movie to go see. This is a treat because all year we patiently wait for those great movies to hit the dollar theatres, or to be among the offerings at the Red Box rental kiosk.

This year, it was The Boy in the Striped Pajamas. Rebecca and I had both read the book last summer.

(We also both read Twilight, but there was no way we would even think to ask the men to sit through all that teen-aged hype and hysteria. Besides, we knew their comments would probably ruin our perfectly good fantasies of being bitten by Edward.)

The Boy in the Striped Pajamas is a must-see. Be warned: it's not a "feel-good" movie. Rather, it so painfully displays the horror of a Nazi "work camp" through the eyes of innocent childhood.

Bruno, a fun and imaginative 8-year-old who reads adventure books and loves to go exploring, is the son of a recently-promoted soldier. "The Fury" comes to dinner at his house, and all of a sudden Bruno's dad is a big shot and the family must move to some place called "Out-With" where his dad will be called Herr Comandant.

Bruno is not happy, but tries to make the best of things. From his new bedroom window, out in the distance he sees what he thinks is a farm, and all the farmers get to wear their pajamas all day. The children, too. He sees lots of children, and wishes he could go over to play with them. He has no one to play with at this new house in Out-With, and he misses his friends back in Berlin.

One afternoon, Bruno sneaks through a garden gate that was mistakenly left open and goes exploring.

I won't spoil the rest of the story by giving any more details. Just know that it's the kind of movie which causes the audience to sit absolutely silent while the end credits roll.

Vegetarian Chili, With Meat

Last Sunday, I busied myself with the bittersweet task of preparing food for Sam's cross-country team dinner. Bittersweet, because I love doing this every Fall, but this was for the last time. He's graduating next May, and his competitive cross-country days are over.

Yeah, I'm a complete sap when it comes to my kids, and their first-time / last-time milestones.

You should have seen me on his first day of Kindergarten. And wasn't that "just" a few years ago? I remember it like it was the proverbial yesterday.

Anyway, my contribution to the team dinner was to make a big pot of chili, two pans of cornbread, and his favorite "made from scratch" chocolate brownies.

Inspired by my dear friends Maven and Angenina, I grabbed my digital camera to record my chili-making progress. Let's see if I can get photos to upload to my blog. This oughta be interesting!

VEGETARIAN CHILI

2 T olive oil

1 cup chopped onion

1 green bell pepper, coarsely chopped

1/2 cup dry red wine

1 can (14.5 oz) diced tomatoes

1 can each of black beans, red kidney beans, and white northern beans, drained and rinsed

Spice blend:

4 t chili powder

1 t each of garlic powder, ground cumin, oregano, and basil

2 t sugar

1/2 t salt

1/2 t freshly ground black pepper

WITH MEAT

1/2 lb. lean ground beef

(I double or triple this recipe for a large group)

1. Assemble everything, and blend the spices in a small bowl.

OK, now I'm laughing because I tried to upload multiple photos at once, the result of which you see here. They "appeared" in the wrong order, at the beginning of my post, and will not be moved to their intended location no matter what I try!!!

Oh, well, you get the idea.

Here's what the chili looks like completely finished and ready to serve:

OH NO!! My picture appeared at the beginning! Aarrrgggg.............

I give up.

So much for my big dream of creating a blog like Mave's and A's. The chili was good, though. Those kids ate every last bit.

Bambi's Revenge

It was the weirdest thing.

Mark and I were driving back yesterday from a long weekend, which included watching Sam's last cross-country race of his college career as well as visiting Mark's nearly-100-year-old Aunt Trudy.

The drive home was long. Really long. Hours and hours long.

There are spots on the map where it's quite remote. No cell phone service. The radio plays neither NPR nor good oldies stations, just garbled static. Except, of course, for the ones put on the air by the "Christian" religious right.

We're both too spiritual to listen to those.

So, what's to do while we're driving along looking at scenery until it's too dark to do even that?

Well, I like to play 20 questions, and Mark good-naturedly humors me.

I make him ask enough thoughtful questions to be able to come up with "wedding ring" (mineral) or "King Kong" (animal).

His ultimate answers to my almost-always-fewer-than-20 questions?

The grass in Yankee Stadium (vegetable).

Hemorroids (animal?).

Yeah.

Which brings me back to my first sentence in this blog. It was the weirdest thing.

It was my turn, and he was choking. My answer was "Bambi" and he could not get it. He was down to knowing it was an animated Disney forest animal, title character of a film.

He could not come up with Bambi! I was simultaneously laughing, gloating, and feeling sad for the childhood he surely must have missed.

He finally gave up and I had to tell him. He wouldn't admit it, but I know he felt sheepish. And of course I made it worse by betting him that both of our kids would get it immediately if I sent them a text message when we were next within range of a tower, giving them only the information that the answer was a Disney forest animal, title character of a film.

My phone buzzed back twice within 1 minute of sending that text. "Bambi" on the screen from both offspring.

Whew! I'm relieved they at least had a normal childhood!

Now, here's the weirdest thing:

Just a couple of hours later, going on midnight, when we were within three miles of home, a big-antlered buck jumped into the road out of nowhere, right in front of us. Mark swerved hard to miss it, but still struck it a glancing blow. I, of course, was screaming.

We stopped and got out. Our dog was shaking, but unhurt in the back seat. Mark and I were both fine, just shaken up as well. The buck got up and continued walking to the other side of the road, didn't appear to be limping. But it was dark and we really couldn't see. It disappeared into the brush.

Mark's quick reaction and hard swerve probably saved it's life, and maybe even our own.

Our 12-year-old car is probably totaled. Lots of front end damage, and the passenger-side door doesn't open right. So now we'll be on the getting-estimates trail, and then most likely watching the classifieds for another reliable vehicle.

But I'll bet he'll never forget about Bambi again.

A Perfect Autumn Weekend

I missed my weekly visit to Auntie Em's kitchen last Sunday.

Instead, I found myself in the northern part of the state, six hours from home. Mark and I drove those six hours on Friday afternoon, and arrived at the front door of our daughter Rebecca's sorority house around dinner time. It was so GREAT to see her, as I hadn't since the first week of August. Could not hug her tightly enough.

We had plans to take her to dinner, along with her boyfriend Scott, who we had yet to meet. His frat house is right across the street (how convenient) so it didn't take long for him to appear. It was nice to meet him, but the initial hand-shaking perhaps would have been less awkward if Mark had not called him Pat. Pat was last year. Oops!

To be fair, both young men are tall, dark, and relatively handsome. So it was an honest mistake.

The rest of the evening went well. Dinner at Sangria's was fabulous as always, and there were no lags in the conversation. Scott's already-OK approval rating climbed even higher when the topic somehow turned to books (I swear I didn't start it!) and he had interesting opinions on a couple I have read. Any man who can discuss books passes any test I may be secretly administering.

We dropped "the kids" off back at Greek Row around 10:00 (early for them, close to bedtime for us) and headed to our motel room for the night.

Early Saturday morning, we picked Rebecca up and drove 45 minutes to the location of her brother Sam's cross-country meet. He attends a different college, and the two hadn't seen each other since the last week of May. It just so happened that last weekend, his team travelled for a race near enough to her college that we could get to see both of them in the same weekend.

I know she was excited to get to see him, because 1) she was awake, dressed, willing and ready to go before 9 AM on a Saturday, and 2) it was her college's Homecoming and she was skipping the parade, tailgate party, football game, and other activities with her boyfriend to be with us.

That's no small thing for a college sophomore.

The race itself was exciting.

Sam's team finished second overall, although he himself did not finish in his usual spot in the front pack due to the deep-tissue injury he's been suffering all season. He went off to sit by himself after the race. After a few minutes, Rebecca walked over to sit with him. I have no idea what they said to each other, but as their mother, it gave me feelings I can't describe to see them, heads together, away from the crowd, brother and sister.

****And I've been trying to add a photo, but my computer isn't cooperating. So I'd better finish this quick and publish before losing it all. ****

After the race, we got in a caravan line behind the team bus with other parent vehicles and followed them to their lunch destination.

We all sort of took over the restaurant, pushing tables together to make room for everyone. Sam and Rebecca made sure they got to sit right beside each other, extrending the visit as long as possible.

When it was time for the team to get back on the bus, we said our goodbyes and drove Rebecca back to her college, then turned the car towards home.

Total time spent in the car to watch a 25 minute cross-country race?

Nearly 14 hours.

Money spent on gasoline, motel, food?

Don't ask. But what's a week's pay, anyway?

Memories?

More than priceless.