Out with the old, in with the new

I've been composing a post in my head all day and keep revising it. I think the year is too hard to recap, since most of the drama has happened in the past month.

Aside from losing my job, we suffered a loss at church as well with the passing of two of our choir members just in the last ten days. On the better news front, a good friend from my older son's youth group days had a beautiful baby boy this summer, and my beautiful baby has grown taller than me now and will be off to high school next fall.

Hopefully this new year will see better economic days for us all, in the form of a new job for me and just better times overall for everyone. Our middle child deploys to Afghanistan in the spring and I plan to play ostrich about that just a bit longer.

Our oldest is thriving in spite of having us for parents, and that makes me feel wonderful. I'm so very proud of all of my kids and the loves of their lives.

This has been the Year of Facebook for me and it's been nothing short of amazing. I have reconnected with people that were at my 5th birthday party (50 years ago), best friends from Junior and Senior High, two of my bridesmaids from my Junior College days, friends I sang with in Junior College and also at NIU. I have found and also been found by co-workers from my first teaching job, and by students in my very first 1st grade class back in 1981 and even one that I had as a student when I was interning in 1977.

I have become better friends with people I have met on Plurk, and then (again) through Facebook.

It's just so amazing. I am so blessed.

I hope that the new year is good to you all, and that you have as much joy as you have brought to me this year.


Allow me to close with the words from a favorite choral anthem of mine from about 35 years ago. It was taken from a poem by Minnie Louise Haskins.


And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: “Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.”

And he replied:

“Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”

So I went forth, and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into the night. And He led me towards the hills and the breaking of day.

Healing for Anissa

Please read this and participate if you can. Please spread the word, too.

Healing for Anissa

This is so, so very important.

Wrapping up the holidays

I've been putting off posting, but I need to go ahead and give some sort of rundown about life here in the sunny south. From the highs of our Thanksgiving trip and then finishing NaNoWriMo, came the lowest of the lows when I was laid of from my job on December 11th. Two weeks before Christmas? Yes, the timing couldn't have been much worse. I didn't see it coming at all. I knew there were going to be cuts in staff, but had been assured that my department would be safe.

So yes, I was blindsided on that one and it was pretty devastating. I didn't make a fortune, but it certainly contributed to the running of the household. It took me until Christmas Eve to stop weeping at the drop of a hat. Anyway, in spite of that, we did have a lovely holiday.

Christmas Eve we finished up our shopping and had a nice lunch at the local mall. The afternoon was very laid back and in the evening we had our candle light service at church. It was packed and it's always a great start to Christmas.

Christmas morning we opened gifts and went back to the church at 10. We had volunteered to help serve the community meal, and we served free meals to over 350 people, both the homeless and the simply lonely. It was an amazing experience. In the late afternoon we headed south to spend time with the rest of our local family, and had a wonderful meal out on the patio in the gorgeous south Florida evening.

All in all, in spite of the loss of job and missing our Marine Son™ and his wife, it was a lovely holiday. We are blessed beyond belief and every day on earth is a miracle.

Speaking of miracles? I hope you've been following the story of Anissa, the link is over there to the right. She's a true miracle.

God bless you all, and may your days be sunny and bright.

13 Things to Do Now that NaNoWriMo is Over

I haven't participated in Thursday Thirteen in a while. Here's my list for this week!

1. Release my inner editor from the closet where I stuffed her on November 1st.
2. Learn how to spell again. (see #1)
3. Enjoy using contractions again.
4. Stop feeling like I need to write out numerals so that they count toward my word count.
5. Enjoy not worrying about how many words are in a paragraph.
6. Avoid other writing challenges until January 1st.
7. Set up the new layout for this here blog.
8. Plan the music for the church sing along on Dec. 16th.
9. Plan the music for the church women's meeting on Dec. 12th.
10. Switch numbers 8 & 9 up above.
11. Clean my house.
12. Get back to being in regular touch with friends.
13. Sleep more.

Not too bad, only 11 and 13 are iffy. *g* I'm hoping to get to #7 after work today. The hubby is out of town and the child stays after for tutoring, so its really just a matter of biting the bullet and pasting in the new code. I already tried it on a test blog and I really like it, so away we go!

Home again, home again

The short version: Thanksgiving was wonderful. We spent two days in North Carolina with our younger son and his wife. We slept, we ate, we drove around and sightsee'd (sight-saw?) ... At any rate, we looked at lots of stuff. *g*

I spent some time writing (by hand! oh, the horrors!) in an attempt to finish my entry for NaNoWriMo, and I accomplished that today.

So now I'm going to rest on my laurels (they're actually quite comfy, those laurels of mine) and enjoy a little bit of calmness before the true insanity of the Advent/Christmas season explodes around me.

The long version: Well, I'm going to save that for another, more serious (but equally happy) post.

Wordless Wednesday, Thank you.

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July 1968, ages 28 and almost 14

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How many seas must a white dove sail?

Her music touched a generation. As a ten year old in 1964, I was just beginning to understand what was to become my lifelong passion for music. I was enamored of Elvis Presley, The Beatles, and Lesley Gore, and then my best friend Ellen invited me upstairs to her dad's studio and introduced me to Peter, Paul and Mary. Not in person of course (that wouldn't happen for many years) but to an album of theirs - "Peter, Paul and Mary" - released just two years prior.



The war in Vietnam wasn't a concern of mine, but I had a beloved cousin who was in the Army; there was talk of whether or not he would go to war. John F. Kennedy had been assassinated only a year before and he had young children and a handsome smile. He had a passion that was contagious and I could relate to him. Civil rights was a term that I only new as segregation, and I couldn't understand it. My best summertime friend, Terry, was black. She lived close to my grandmother's house in West Virginia and I carried her school picture in my wallet. In Junior High, when I was suddenly in an integrated school, I fared much better than some of my friends who had been so unfortunate as to have only experienced friends with the same color skin as they. I thought them very unfortunate to have had such a narrow existence.

Mary Travers sang of love, she sang of fairy tales, she sang of lemon trees and cruel wars and I sang right along with her. I learned to strum a guitar from Sears and Roebuck and I bought a Peter, Paul and Mary songbook. I was in heaven - now I could really play along with her!

Her songs brought me to tears because I understood what was in between the lines. I got it. Not everyone did.

Fast forward forty years.

I'm a professional musician -singer, director, teacher, and now editor- and Peter Yarrow was one of my husband's clients. I met him on several occasions, but then came the night in 2004 when we went backstage to meet Paul Stookey and Mary Travers. I was able to clown with Peter for a photograph and tell Paul how much "The Wedding Song" had meant to me in all the years I'd been singing it, but Mary? Mary was a presence that was almost unapproachable. I knew she was ill, she was in the early stages of leukemia and didn't hang around long for autographs or kind words, but I shared the air in a room with her for a brief moment. I listened as she spoke with others who had gathered and it was enough.

Her death has touched me more than any of the other deaths of celebrities this summer. I admired the others, I enjoyed their work, and maybe even gushed a little when some of them were on screen, but Mary?

Mary touched my life. She touched my heart.


Mary Allin Travers (November 9, 1936 – September 16, 2009)


Peter, Paul and Mary's first album is bright with enthusiasm. No gimmicks. There is just something GOOD about it all. Good in the sense of Virtue, that is. And the news that something this GOOD can be as popular as this is can fill you with a new kind of optimism. Maybe everything's going to be all right. Maybe mediocrity has had it. Maybe hysteria is on the way out. One thing for sure in any case: Honesty is back. Tell your neighbor.

-- from the liner notes for Peter, Paul and Mary, released in 1962

September already?

Can Fall be far behind? Unfortunately, in Miami that's usually a given. We rarely get any true 'fall' weather, though. Our seasons seem to be Spring, Summer, Hurricane, and OMG-it's-45F-outside-today!!!

I'm serious. :)

I used to love the beautiful fall days when we lived in Illinois a million years ago. It was a novelty to me, having grown up in Miami, walking through the crisp leaves and smelling smoke in the air and of course, actually wearing long-sleeved tops and not having a heat stroke.

Well, cool weather or not, fall brings the certainty of changes to my life. School is in session again and my baby is in her last year of Middle School. Next year it will be high school and all of the heartache that will bring to us, the parents. Our baby, our last baby, is a beautiful young woman now and I couldn't be more proud, but please? Can we slow it down just a tad?

The lazy summer evenings are giving way to busy-ness again as our church life kicks into high gear. Choir practice begins again this week (Christmas cantata anyone?), committee meetings are back on track, and tons of other places we absolutely have to be or face Dire Consequences™. (It helps if you say that in a deep voice and pretend there's an echo.)

So, we sit up straighter, dust off our Day Planners, set the alarms for an hour earlier and off we go.

Happy September. :)

Happy birthday, Harriet

A friend posted the link to this video. It isn't a show I watch, so I might never have seen it otherwise. I was touched and yes, a little sniffly, but when the judges were overcome? That was it. And as I wept I realized that today was/is my older sister's birthday. If she had beaten breast cancer, she would have been 69 today.

This is a horrid, horrid disease. Please help fight to eradicate it.

'SYTYCD' Top 8: Melissa & Ade's Contemporary Performance @ Y! TV

Memories are made of this

The Queen of Memories, Memory Keeper, sentimental sap ... I've been called all of them and probably more, but I don't mind in the least. Over the past months I've reconnected with elementary school friends, college friends, and just this past weekend, friends from high school, as well.

Why do I remember who was at my birthday party when I was 5, or who had the lead in the 5th grade play, or what colors my class wore for field day in 3rd grade? I don't know, but what I do know is that memories of these things are important to me and I cherish them. They were banner days in my life that now spans almost fifty-five years. I grew up hearing my mother, grandmother, aunts, and uncles talking about things that happened when they were small. I still love to visit old cemeteries and read the dates on the tombstones (thanks, mom!), and I love depression glass, and old glass bottles that milk used to come in when it was left in a wooden box on our kitchen step. I have (and still use) pieces from my mother's first set of china, a simple pink and white Homer Laughlin design. I have my great-grandmother's butter churn. I have my grandfather's lantern from his position as caboose engineer with C & O Railroad.

A good portion of my memories are stored in boxes upon boxes of photographs and negatives. Some of them were mine, some my mother's, and others were copies of old photographs from the early-1900's compliments of my Aunt Nancy.

When I began finding old friends on Facebook, I began to scan old photos and post them for all to see, so I've taken on the somewhat dubious role of a historian of sorts. Most don't remember the things that I do, but it's alright. I'll remember for them.

To the dismay of my children, I am a collector. I refuse to part with things that hold so many memories for me. These things mean nothing to them, because I fear the memory bug has most likely skipped a generation, and that saddens me. I remember being fascinated with my grandmother's scrapbooks, but no one really cares what bits of my life are taped or glued to the yellowing pages of the ones that I labored over so lovingly all those years ago.

That is, except for those afore-mentioned friends, the ones who -like me- are yearning to grab hold of a piece of the past and cling to it for just a while longer.

My garage is a monument to my past. My son (I'll not reveal which one) once said, "You know, when you die we're pitching all of this stuff." 'Stuff' wasn't the exact word he used, but you get the drift. He's too young to 'get it', and he may never 'get it', and that's sad. It's sad because my past, my memories, are what has made me who I am today. Who I am today is a part of what my children are, and part of what their children will be.

One of my favorite films is "Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan." Just before he dies, Spock reaches for Bones McCoy, presses his fingertips to the doctor's forehead, and concentrates. In one of the last acts he performs, he whispers "Remember." Through mind-meld he has passed on the entire substance of his memory to the doctor, destined to be retrieved at a later time.

I wish I could do the same. For my children, for my friends, for anyone who might be even slightly curious about what made me tick.

Memories light the corners of my mind, and they always will.

I-guana be loved by you

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Do. not. want.

And I'm going to lay right here in the neighbor's yard looking like roadkill* until you take the farkin' thing off of me.



* Trust me, he's not in pain. And with him wearing his new Gentle Leader, I'm not either. We made it all the way to the end of the block and back and he only laid down twice. And look - no more nearly dislocated shoulder! This could well be the best $20 I ever spent.

I love him, but at 5 months old and 68 pounds, enough already with the pulling, lunging, etc. Watch the video in the link and you'll see what I mean.

Wordless Wednesday, Cardinal again

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Wordless Wednesday: Laissez les bons temps rouler!

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Wordless Wednesday, The mind boggles.

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Wordless Wednesday, Backyard visitor

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promises, promises

So. Marine Son's unit has been split up. Seeing as how he is in a different unit now, he no longer has the prior guarantee of being stateside for a year. That being said, this means he might be deploying to Afghanistan in March. He just came home from Iraq in September.

I have no words.

No, wait. Yes I do. Can we please get the hell out of the Middle East now?

School days, school days

For many years, fifteen or more, I was a member of the Delta Kappa Gamma Society International. It is an honorary society for women teachers and through this organization I met some amazing women, some from as far away as Germany. I was the resident musician of our chapter so I got tagged to play piano and sing at every event and usually for our District events as well. There were women from other chapters who I only saw maybe once or twice a year, but in moments of greeting the time seemed to melt away.

I drifted away from the organization in 2005 when we were planning our cross country move from Miami to California. It was easier at the time than saying even more goodbyes and being busy right up until the bitter end.

Well, we didn't move, and I lost touch with all of them except for one, whom I saw at the funeral of one a former choir member over the summer. Then last weekend, I received a call from another member inviting me to a pay-your-own-way lunch this morning to catch up with some of the other members and to pay tribute to two of our long time members that had recently passed away. Of course I said I would be there, and I dressed up and said goodbye to my son and daughter-inlaw (they were getting ready to drive back to his base this morning) and set off for the country club near my old church, in the neighborhood where I grew up.

The hugs began in the parking lot and intensified as each successive 'sister' came through the door. We laughed and shared photos of our children and grandchildren (theirs, not mine!) and of course the conversations quickly focused on teaching and retirement, and coming out of retirement for some. Many of the women were my oldest son's teachers when he was in elementary school, and they were there for the birth of my Marine son and my daughter. In fact, the morning of my initiation was the morning I took a home pregnancy test and learned of my second son's impending arrival. :)

After lunch, our ringleader led us in a round robin reading of Walt Whitman's "I Hear America Singing." She had printed it out and cut it up into individual lines which were then assigned to each of us. As the last line was read, there was a beautiful silence as we took in the significance of what we were doing. Brenda, seated next to me, summed it up best: No matter how much time and distance comes between us, we will always share a bond, a sisterhood.

We spoke fondly of Jean and our other Brenda, so recently departed from us, and we lifted our glasses of water or iced tea in a toast, pledging to make this an annual event.

Our chapter has folded since I was an active member, but that special sense of belonging and purpose was still there. We've changed in the past several years. We're older, our faces lined a bit more and a few more touches of gray have been added, but there was a companionship there that I hadn't realized I'd missed.





And to close, a poem.

"THE TEACHER"
author unknown

The teacher looked ahead with misgivings, but with hope.
Would the way be smooth or rough?
Would it end in success or failure?
And she stood and looked and wondered.
And a voice said, answering: "There will be no end."


And the teacher smiled and said:
"I know it will end. I may teach one year, two years,
Or possibly many years,
But this I know: Someday it will end."

And the teacher went forward to teach.


And many gathered around her,
And they all had need to learn.
And the teacher looked into their eyes and desired to fill
their needs
And she taught them with mind and heart and voice --
A mind filled with knowledge,
A voice speaking wisdom,
And a heart overflowing with love.


Then life changed, and the teacher taught no more.
No more did eager students gather around her.
"It has ended," said the teacher, continuing on the road of
life. "This is the end of my teaching."


And she believed this until...

A doctor stood and said: "I am here because this teacher
taught me."

A lawyer stood and said: "I am here because this teacher
taught me."

An astronaut stood and said, "I am here because this teacher
taught me."

An engineer stood and said, "I am here because this teacher
taught me."

A teacher stood and said, "I am here because this teacher
taught me."

And many in good positions stood and said, " I am here
because this teacher taught me."


And the teacher looked ahead of those who had been taught and
saw the continued steps of progress, work, and success before each
one. And joy filled the teacher's heart, and she said,
"This is not the end. There is no end to my teachings."

Looking forward

It's 2009, can you believe it? It seems we were celebrating the turn of a new millennium just yesterday. We were reminiscing about that over dinner last night and laughing. Here in Miami it was what we consider freezing (never mind, all you Northerners!) and we went to a block party at a friend's home. There were way too many of us to cram inside, so there were chimineas placed strategically around the front lawn and we huddled gratefully around as we sipped champagne. Frankly, we just wanted it to be midnight already so that we could retreat to the warmth of our homes.

All five of us attended, my husband and I and our three children, because it was a once-in-a-lifetime thing; an historic event. Last night, in contrast, we were one child short as the oldest son was at his girlfriend's celebrating with her family. But that 'one-less' number was filled in by the presence of our younger son's new wife of one week and a day.

Change. We seem to be rolling in it here at our house. :)


What will this new year bring? We don't know, and don't want to know. That would spoil all the fun!