NIEBM 6: February 5th

I've been waking up way too early lately. Lying awake at 3 a.m. isn't fun. My body is tired, my eyes are burning but I'm not sleeping. Mystifying...and unpleasant. Hope it's not the pressure of my blog-a-day pledge that's throwing off my sleep pattern.

Since I missed most of the final Super Tuesday results last night (too tired to stay up!) I checked online first thing this morning. Interesting results. I'm glad the democratic campaign will continue with two viable candidates, and I'm glad that California became part of the Super Tuesday primary this year. The process is more exciting when you feel you have a significant stake in it.

Yesterday I was talking to a friend about parents--having them, not being one. We were reminiscing about our dads when I realized that February 5th was the anniversary of my dad's death. It's startling to realize that he died 16 years ago, and distressing to think that the day might have slipped by like any other, if I hadn't been talking to Peggy.

I can still remember the early morning phone call from my mom. We were living on Singleton Drive in Bethesda and I was upstairs in the bedroom. I knew the phone call was probably bad news because Dad had been admitted to the hospital a few days before. I was in my nightgown and seated in the white wicker chair by the phone when I answered the call. The light in the room was dim, winter sunrise filtered through cream-colored roller shades. Mom's voice was almost unrecognizable--a tight monotone reciting a painful script. The phone calls to her children must have been very difficult to make. It was unbearable news to hear.

Paul, Nora and I had just been in California for Christmas 1991. It was the only time we'd celebrated Christmas away from home since Nora was born. Things started to deteriorate with Ern (our affectionate nickname for Dad) during our visit, but those days also gave us some of our best memories. My favorite was sitting around the kitchen table after dinner and singing Christmas carols. We weren't a family prone to spontaneous sing-alongs but at that moment it somehow seemed appropriate. My brother and his family were there, too, and Dad, in his worn Pendelton bathrobe, had come up the hall to join us after dinner. There were candles burning on the table, and Paul was at the sink washing dishes. I don't remember the songs we sang, but I remember the sensation of singing them. We sounded wonderful.

Nora had just turned eight when Ern died. I'm glad that she knew him so well even though we lived 3,000 miles away. She and I always spent a chunk of the summer visiting Mom and Dad in the house I grew up in. Nora loved swimming in the pool, and in her younger years Ern tucked her into an floating disc attached to a rope which he pulled on to bring her back into the shallow end when she started to drift toward the deeper water. He wasn't much of a swimmer but Ern and Miles (the resident mutt) made excellent lifeguards.

Nora also loved to help her granddad eat the strawberries he planted on the hill above the house. She always had telltale red lips after a visit to the garden. One summer they planted carrots together. During the carrot harvest later in the fall, Ern sent her pictures of crooked orange produce and of the sign he had made proclaiming them "Nora's Carrots."

I remember being slightly surprised at how abandoned I felt when Dad died. He had been sick for a long time, and his death was expected. I was a full-fledged adult but my world was irreparably different without my father. Eleven years later when Mom died, I described myself as orphaned. I was adrift without my lifelong anchors.

That Christmas in California was also when Nora found out about Santa. She was probably suspicious at age 8, but her discovery of the Toy's R Us price tag hidden beneath a holiday sticker was the clincher. Learning the truth about Santa is an inevitable rite of passage, a small loss of childhood innocence. The real loss of innocence came six weeks later.

Good-bye to 2007. Hello to the Year of Choices

Christmas disassembled. The kitchen island is covered with ornaments and the rug in the living room is hidden beneath plastic storage bins waiting to be repacked with holiday decor. Taking the tree down is certainly less time-consuming than putting it up, but it is not without it's own drama.
One reluctant glass ornament couldn't be untangled from a branch and crashed to the ground leaving my favorite flamingo with a gaping hole in it's tail feathers. Fortunately, I found an online site that sells the one I broke so my flock of flamingo ornaments will be intact for next Christmas.

I wrote in September that the start of school was when I tended to make resolutions. This year I may make an exception. I have a strong desire to start 2008 with a clean slate. First, I want a house that is clean and back in order after the disruption of the holidays. My pottery collection will be unearthed from the cupboard in the laundry room and placed back on the mantel where it resides for 11 months of the year. Mom's old (maybe even antique, by now) linen napkins will be washed, ironed and wrapped in tissue until I need them next year. I've already washed and ironed them two times in the past few weeks, and I have to admit that I find the process very satisfying. Ironing out the wrinkles in the oversized squares, creasing them into rectangles and then smaller squares is an easily accomplished task. That's what I like about it. The edges of napkins match up, the crease is sharp and I can see the results. I find it comforting. Other parts of life are not so clearly defined.

I managed to write my very belated Christmas cards last night. Check that off the list. Actually, the cards were so late that I bought some new cards that send "Happy New Year" greetings. There is a slight possibility that these cards were intended for Chinese New Year, as opposed to the regular old New Year, because colorful paper lanterns are scattered across the front. I'm hoping that the recipients will be so delighted to hear from me that they won't be pondering such inanities. Next year I am only going to buy New Year's cards. That way I'll have several weeks after Christmas to get my act together and I'll avoid feeling guilty.

Now, I'm not exactly making a resolution. It's more like announcing a general theme for 2008...CHOICES. Glass half-full choices. Positive options. My goal is to make determined choices and act on them. Less whining and waffling, more action. We'll see how it goes. Stay tuned.

Christmas Time is Here!

Christmas Eve morning is clear and crisp in Santa Barbara. My last minute run to the grocery store (just a few things for $106.54---guess that Domaine Chandon pushed it over the top) early this morning gave me a chance to catch a last glimpse of the full moon from last night, before driving west into the glowing orange orb of the rising sun. Beautiful way to start the day. My enjoyment of the 45 degree temperature was enhanced by my favorite feature in my newish car...heated seats. They are definitely an early morning treat.

As I listened to James Taylor's Christmas cd I spotted a coyote running across the road in front of me. I watched it crawl through the wire fence while two others, blending into the dry brown grass, waited for the latecomer to join them. I feel like my neighborhood in Goleta is smack in the middle of boring suburbia and I am always startled by the quick transition to rural/agricultural life that exists just across the road.

The highlight of Christmas this year has actually already happened for my family. Paul and I surprised Nora with a new car and she was totally unprepared for it. It was great to watch her disbelief as it dawned on her that the cute Mazda 3 sitting in the showroom with the red bow on top was for her. She was so blown away by the gift that she was too shaky to drive it home. Fortunately, she has recovered and is now bopping around Santa Barbara loving her new car.

We had concocted this elaborate scheme about Paul's old Focus, the car Nora has been driving for a few years, being recalled for a repair which had to be done by December 22. We'd even worked out a script to cover all unanticipated contingencies. Nora was supposed to get up early on Saturday and drive down to Goleta. Of course, our plans were foiled by the fact that the Focus actually developed a brake problem on Thursday and she had to take it to the dealership in Berkeley for repair. When she dropped it off she mentioned the recall and the service worker looked up the car and said there was no recall. We thought that might tip her off, but she just assumed that the Berkeley Ford guy had made a mistake. I love that she automatically thought that Paul was right--she still thinks "Father Knows Best!" Fortunately a friend of hers from high school was driving to Santa Barbara on Saturday so Nora came down with her. We created a feeble excuse as to why we had to stop by the Mazda dealership that afternoon, and the rest is history.

We've never done the "big gesture" gift before, and I have to admit it was fun. I know now that Nora will not be a screamer when she wins the lottery or the championship on Jeopardy. She won't hop up and down or throw her arms in the air. She has a gentler but very appreciative response. I, however, am definitely a sobber--no, make that a blubberer--and certainly can't be counted on for any coherent comment at a moment of high drama. Paul just smiled--happy that his daughter now has a safe car (exceptional air bags) to drive and delighted that we were able to surprise her. A great Christmas was had by all.

Christmas Cheer

Unpacking Christmas decorations is always a trip into the nostaglia of holidays past. We have way too many decorations Paul points out annually, as we remove the heavy bins from the rafters above the garage. Hard to maintain the Christmas spirit when balancing precariously on a too short ladder. This year it was my turn to make the ascent up the ladder because Paul and his cane weren't well-suited for the job. There were a few scary handoffs and coughing fits as a year's worth of dust drifted down but eventually everything landed safely on the ground.

I love opening the boxes and unwrapping the contents. Wreaths,stockings, ornaments and my eclectic collections of Santas, snowmen and angels fill the living room floor admist piles of crinkled tissue paper. I didn't consciously plan to acquire all this holiday cheer, but over time my collections expanded. Some of them were gifts like the small porcelain angel with the poinsettia on her dress that I received as a present on my eighth birthday. She started my collection of angels, and the ancient Santa mug with my name on it (now a victim of careless handling and an unskilled application of super glue) was the start of my Santa collection. And okay, I've added a few pieces on my own. Shoot me, I love Christmas.


Last weekend when I slit the tape sealing one cardboard box, a musical bell tucked inside began playing Edelweiss. I remember Mom bringing this bell back from a trip to Austria but I don't remember winding it up in recent years. It was strange that I had moved the box on to the table without hearing any music but when I removed the tape the chimes were unleashed. Was Mom was sending me a Christmas message? I'd like to think so.

Mom loved Christmas, too, and some of my most cherished ornaments are ones that came from her collection. After she died, my sisters and I sorted through her ornaments and now we each have a small selection of our favorites to remind of us of home. I always give them places of honor on my tree.

Paul and I went off to Pasadena this weekend to do a little Christmas shopping. We visited some of our favorite restaurants and shops including Vroman's, a bookstore on Colorado Blvd. It's a fabulous place filled with book lovers, and a massive selection of wonderful books. On the second floor there is a great children's book section. The Young Adult aisle was impassable as teenagers lounged on the floor leaning against giant pillows, reading. There are certainly worse ways for kids to spend a Saturday night. I couldn't find a way to browse in that section without disturbing the readers, but did spot a stack of Val Hobb's latest book, Anything But Ordinary on the top of one of the bookcases. It is thrilling to see books written by someone I know. If the ghost of Christmas Future is reading this, please take note–I'd love to see one of my own books on those shelves in a few years...

But Baby It's Cold Outside

Last night was a magical (and very cold) night in Santa Barbara–my favorite one of the year. The 55th annual Santa Barbara Holiday Parade marched down State Street to the accompaniment of 4 high school bands, too many elementary bands to count and giant boom boxes blasting holiday music for baton twirlers, gymnasts and a hip-hop dance troupe dressed up as sexy santas. How great is that?

The Holiday Parade is the one time of the year when Santa Barbara seems like a small town–an easier blending of the haves and the have-nots. The parade is wonderful and a little hokey and almost everyone watching discovers they know someone who is marching in it. I first spotted beautiful Mallory, dressed in a hoop skirt, shepherding a herd of young girls singing Christmas carols and later a small clump of Brownies from my school, huddled together for safety and warmth, walked by my spot next to the Granada Theater. I loved seeing former Brandon School students marching in bands and dancing as pom-pon girls. Several of last year's sixth graders have transformed themselves into very grown-up and talented dancers. I even saw a mother I had just spoken to a few hours earlier at school, riding on top of a very big fire engine. For me, that would definitely be one of the best parts of being a firefighter.

Of course what makes this parade truly special is the magic of Christmas. A night of sparkling lights wrapped around trees, hats and musical instruments, and countless renditions of "Jingle Bell Rock" helped me get into the holiday spirit. Now, I am ready to decorate the tree, hang up some outdoor lights and pull out all the Christmas cds. I'll even load a few on my laptop so I can soak up more "spirit" as I work on Emelia.

My favorite vignette from last night came from my fellow parade watchers. The kindergarten son of a friend of Paul's was sitting curbside in his kid-size folding chair. All of a sudden he jumped up and hid behind the large nandina bush in front of me. He crouched close to the ground, but reached up to part the leaves and peer out at the parade. Santa was coming down the street and Grant was none too sure about him. He was definitely Santa-phobic and yet he found Santa irresistible as well. Whenever Santa waved to our side of the street, Grant ducked but when he turned away, Grant's head would rise up and steal a peek. Must be hard to be conflicted about Santa. Hard to "be good" to please someone you're afraid of.

When we got home from the parade we were freezing (at least by Santa Barbara standards.) I dug a flannel nightshirt out of my drawer and happily snuggled under my almost-always-too-warm comforter. Not last night. Soon Santa Barbara will be back to it's usual mild temperatures and I'll pack up our gloves, scarves, hats and Christmas decorations for another year, but right now I'm loving my extra warm bed as visions of sugar plums dance in my head!

Lovely as a Tree...

Oops! Haven't been writing much of late, but I've been thinking. Most recently, I've been thinking about trees. Not the kind Thoreau might have contemplated. I've been thinking more about the man-made variety.

The first one is the Thankful Tree Nora and I made a few weeks ago. I read about the idea in the local paper and I brought along a selection of craft supplies so we could make one during our annual mother/daughter weekend in San Francisco.

Now, most people might not consider doing craft projects while staying in the lovely Omni Hotel in the city, but I knew that after long days of tromping all over San Francisco (in the rain this time) Nora and I would be ready to snuggle in our comfortable beds, rent a movie, have room service and this year, try a craft project. The idea of the thankful tree was to cut out felt leaves, embroider them with the names of things we are thankful for and then hang the leaves on birch branches. Paul and I were planning to drive up to have Thanksgiving with Nora in her new apartment and I thought it would be fun to create a unique centerpiece for our celebration.

The project started out a bit slowly. Admittedly our crafting skills were rusty. I had never mastered embroidery and Nora wasn't quite sure about imagining leaf shapes and cutting them with pinking shears. However, we persevered. Soon we had leaves cut out, embroidered and stuffed in various autumnal shades of felt. Our leaves proclaimed we were thankful for "Paul" (and our 30 years of marriage), "Nora", "Mom", "family", "words", "art", "retirement" (hopefully sometime soon) and "laughter." We could have done more but one of us (who shall remain nameless) lost her enthusiasm after her second leaf. I didn't see the completed tree until we arrived at Nora's on Thanksgiving. Her landlord had given her a bouquet of flowers and she added them to the base of the branches. Stunning!

I've never liked to travel over Thanksgiving holidays--seemed like too much of a hassle dealing with all the other travelers. But this trip was worth it. I made some of the dishes at home, Nora made some and we had one of the best Thanksgivings ever. Simplified, but so wonderful to celebrate with grown-up Nora and Paul.

The other tree I've been thinking about is Nora's new artificial Christmas Tree. We gave her a little four foot tree as a birthday present, knowing she needed something to hang her beautiful collection of ornaments on. She has some treasured ones from her childhood (but honestly, I have to admit that I kept most of them for my own tree...bad mother) and she's added quite a few recently--mostly glass, glittery and pink. My own first trees tended to be the more organic variety--stuffed felt and cotton ornaments, walnut shell mice, clothespin soldiers. Nora definitely goes for the bling when it comes to Christmas trees. The white lights on the tree reflect sliver and gold sequins and the iridescent glow of her bright, shiny balls. I have to admit I'm now a convert. I still don't have too much glitz in my everyday life but I'm thinking that Christmas may just be the time to reveal the secret yearnings and ostentacious glamour of "Oh, Margaret!"