The Mask of the Red Death

Ok, so it isn't your typical Christmas reference, but it does make for a funny Christmas tale--if you're Irish. Every year we get everyone together, all of my family and all of Kurt's family, for Christmas. We can do this because my sister married Kurt's brother. It simplifies everything and we've all learned so much from each other. This year we learned the cost of togetherness. My niece and nephew both had the flu--again, and after everyone deliberated we decided to risk it. I don't regret the decision. Christmas wouldn't have been the same without them, and I don't think I own much of anything that hasn't been barfed on before and probably will be again. The unexpected thing was that so many of the rest of us--who were supposed to be immune due to an earlier round of the flu--caught it. My poor parents had to spend an extra day before they felt well enough to drive home.
You'd think it'd be a real buzz killer, but actually, being Irish on my side and good natured on Kurt's side, we had a good time around it, through it, and even at moments because of it. We had withdrawn from the world into our clan, and we proudly added Mary's new husband Dan and his three daughters. Fortunately they escaped the flu, and the oldest set a Wii hula hoop record no one believes will be broken any time soon. I cooked Beef Tenderloin with Mushroom Risotto and another night was a bunch of seafood, some from scratch and some from the freezer section at Sam's. Almost all the adults and the older kids stayed up until midnight and beyond to play Balderdash. The younger children quietly stayed up until their parents busted them and separated them to various regions around the house. Mom Vi made her pies. My mom brought her biscuits and Wreath Bread. Every moment was a blessing.
Our Christmas gathering grows more and more important to me every year. It's a benchmark where if you haven't connected with someone by Christmas, you know you'll get the scoop then. It also provides me with a great opportunity to cook and to cook things I'd never otherwise have the chance to try. It's worth braving the stomach flu for.

Anyone missing some snow?

Because I think we found it, and I'd be glad to send it back. Last year was the worst snow year in all the years I've lived in Michigan. I thought sure we'd be getting back to those nice mild winters that made the snow mobile jockeys think about moving on to Alaska. Instead we have just been dumped on with such ferocity I have begun to give up hope.
It's not so bad except for the cabin fever. I can keep busy with kids and work and books, but there comes a point where they can't be kept busy. They need to get out, and I need to get to my meetings. Hopefully the homeschooling co-op will ease their loneliness, and we've made some new friends who are close enough to risk travel for. It's nice to finally be settling in.
I'll be spending part of today checking out our snow gear. They've already been out to play but at this point I don't know whose snow boots are pinching and which snow pants are too short. Coats we seem to be all set, but waterproof gloves and mittens took a beating last year. The hot chocolate is laid in, but it's also been very popular. I'll need to see if we have enough to get through the holidays. I guess I'll have to make peace with the snow. It is beautiful to watch. I never struggle with SAD because it's all a painting to me. Whatever light or color the artist chooses I enjoy it. As art snow is quite lovely. Stepping into the painting though immediately changes my feeling. I hate to be cold. I get dizzy and my ears burn. I've bought gear to cope with it all, but who wants to spend all that time putting on layers and layers of clothes? I'll have to find a way to enjoy the snow. Life is too short to be grumpy with weather.

A Greater Work

My conversion was long and slow and then somewhere in the middle of RCIA classes it just took off. The thing was, my husband couldn't buy it. He wasn't/isn't ready to convert and I respect that, but when the oil was dry and my guests were gone I couldn't help wondering if I'd missed a step or screwed something up. How did I end up alone?
My thoughts and feelings since conversion have ranged from anxiety to fear with the occasional moments of certitude that even if I'm alone I'm doing the right thing. I was asking God about it, and there was an inner turning that brought to mind the powerful healing I've been experiencing sitting there alone in the pew. My sister says that I'm the kind of person who would allow an elephant to stand on my toes without saying anything because I'd be sure he didn't mean to and I didn't want to embarrass him. It's true. Sometimes I wonder if I have any toes left. The evangelical world I grew up in was tightly knit and gossip spread like fire. From a very early age I was aware that my behavior and our family's imperfections were dangerous and had to be guarded. I learned from fighting bullies that the best way to keep from being hurt was to be the scariest person in the room. It's funny that I used to trip over "forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us" because that's exactly what I most needed to do. But I had no place to do it, until St. Mary's.
For those who've read Tales of the Kingdom, entering the church is like crossing the Circle of Sacred Flames, who I really am--good, bad, and ugly comes forward. I've begun to be comfortable with that. All those imperfections that were dangerous are simply the ordinary stuff of living. I'm free to admit I'm a sinner, my family isn't perfect, there are things in my life you don't want to know. In the quiet of St. Mary's, far from the maelstrom of painful people and memories I can listen to God and God only.
I'm beginning to see this quiet time as a special retreat--a much needed retreat. I'd come to the end of my usefulness. There was/is so much that is too broken to do anyone any good. All those painful days and nights when my world was torn apart for reasons that still just seem stupid to me. Everywhere I went before now all of that went with me. But at St. Mary's no one knows anything about me or my family or all those tiresome ins and outs. They just know me, and they know I like to sit quietly, third row from the back, chapel side. I wish I could show them how much that grace is purchasing in my soul. I used to be afraid to be alone, but now I see that time alone is preparing me for greater work.

Reading List

One of the things I love most about vacation is I usually get a day or two to relax and read. I go up to my bedroom and lock the door, and Kurt takes over the kids. This is the first year I've decided to draw up a reading list. The other years it was usually Harry Potter. Not so this year.
My friend, Heather Bowman, reminded me of a great book we read as girls, Jackaroo. It's basically a female Robin Hood. When I looked it up on line I found out it was now a series, so Cynthia Voight's Kingdom series is on the list for light reading.
Kierkegaard's Purity of Heart gets dragged everywhere and never finished. I am going to finish it! I will. I will. I will!
I have been saving Flannery O'Connor's work for years. She's never going to write any more. She doesn't have exhaustive files for her non-existant children to edit. There are only so many Flannery moments left in my life. I feel like it's finally time to read Wise Blood. I'm sad about it because once I'm done I'm done. I may wimp out and set it aside for another Christmas, but I do feel it's time to beef up her influence on my novel.
This last book I read every day. It is a beautiful fusion of faith and art. The entire calendar of saint's feast days is represented and accompanied by beautiful art. It's a wonderful book and a great gift idea.

Harriet the Cow!

At my writer's group, my major character has received a special honor. One of our poets has a farm and she named one of her cows after Harriet. I'm so tickled. This is a picture of Harriet the Cow. Is she cute or what? Just look at that smile.
The other great news is that I seem to be getting back on track with Harriet at 14. Last night's section got the "it works" comment that I've been waiting for. I'll be glad when Harriet leaves New York and heads home to Chattanooga, maybe she should drop by a farm. :)

The best Christmas gift

Last year my husband gave me the best Christmas present ever--a giant creche. I've wanted one since I was five. My mother was playing some kind of elaborate guessing game about a gift she'd bought for under the tree. I couldn't follow, the only thing I could think of going under the tree was a creche. The more I thought I was right the more excited I got. Baby Jesus, Mary, Joseph, it would be wonderful. She kept stressing how delicate the gift was and how important it would be for me to take good care of it. What a let down when it was just a jewelry box. She couldn't understand my disappointment. I couldn't understand how anyone wouldn't prefer a creche. Mom put creches in the same category as Santa Clause. A few years earlier we'd gone to the mall and I'd wondered who the guy with the beard was. My mother and I are just very different people.
Anywho, the first thing I bought for Mea's second Christmas was small, inexpensive creche she was free to play with. She rearranged those figurines for hours. It was highly satisfying to watch. Through the years the set has suffered greatly. No animals have their ears, a wiseman is missing his hand. The HolyFamily is doing OK, but everybody else has suffered for my children's faith. Two years ago we bought the Little People Nativity Set, but I don't like it as well. Last year, Sam's Club had a beautiful, gigantic nativity set, and I walked by it, and I walked by it, and I walked by it. Every time I'd stop for a good stare, then I'd check the price tag and I'd roll on. It was getting really close to Christmas day when I discovered they'd significantly reduced the price. I took a deep breath and rolled by again. When I got home I told Kurt about the price reduction. He thought it was decently priced. I decided it was too much. I could live without it. It wasn't that important, but it was.
Next shopping trip I expected that the set would be gone, and the wild happiness with which I found it still there made me take out my cell. Kurt didn't sound surprised. "Go ahead and get it. It'll be your Christmas present." I don't normally do things like that, but when I could imagine my grandchildren playing with it I realized it was more than an object it was a way to stir up our faith. Poor Kurt, it weighs a ton and we put it up on the bookcases so that it won't be damaged by the kids. I wouldn't change a thing. The reason for the season dominates our living room and that's the best gift we all could receive.

When will she ever learn?

The first time I got this hairdo I was 13, the age my daughter is now. I offered her a trip to the salon, but she wasn't interested. I wasn't offered a trip to the salon, my family felt that cutting my hair would be a travesty sincerely repented. They were right.
I should have known better when the greater majority of my beautician's clients were my grandmother's age. The thing that nobody expected was that a perm would make my exceptionally thick hair stand up. In a small school where punk was banned I was an accidental bad ass. Fortunately, my class was the kind that could overlook a couple of bad hair years. (Don't ask for the full arsenal--one of my highschool hairdos was lovingly called my chemotherapy wig.)
So what am I doing recreating the nightmare of my adolescence? Every so often I get sick of hair. If I were braver I'd be bald. If it's been long enough from a Polish Punker moment I say chop it off short, and here I am. I'd give a lot to have low maintence short hair, but keeping my hair short requires a trip to the salon every other week and who has the time? I'll just have to content myself with my regular bob. Yawn.