Christmas is Coming...

December is finally upon us (actually, it came amazingly quickly this year) and I can now launch unabashedly into the holiday season—belting out jaunty Christmas tunes and swigging back the eggnog, wassail, or other festive beverage to which copious amounts of alcohol can be added!

My darling daughter jump-started my Scrooge-after-the –ghosts enthusiasm with her naked, heartfelt confession of love and gratitude at the Thanksgiving dinner table.

We were able to spend this Thanksgiving with our urban family at LaRiesse’s condo at the Gaystone. Thanks to her girlfriend Michele (whom Terri has aptly dubbed the Martha Stewart of lesbians), we were all able to sit down together at one long table—and there was even a butter dish! (you had to be there)

As we started to dig into the hodge-podge collection of traditional and non-traditional fare (sushi, bourbon sweet potatoes, ham, risotto & funeral potatoes) Shalamar suggested that we go around the table and have each person share what they were thankful for this year.

It went along smoothly, humorously, and sincerely—and then there was Gabi. She brought the table to tears.

She decided to say what she was grateful for about each person at the table. Jeff was seated to her left and she started with him.

“I’m thankful for Jeff because he is like a dad to me when my dad isn’t there.”

She went on from there and said equally wonderful things about everyone; however, as I recall this a week later (with tears glistening in my eyes) that’s where my heart—and my memory—stops.

(I will be posting a blog a day until Christmas—so don’t forget to check back or subscribe!)

Not Real Brains?

I went trick-or-treating tonite with my best friend and her boys. Terri was doing her makeup for her mummy costume, and even though I had decided not to dress up, when I watched her turning her already pale face even paler, I wanted to play too.

Zombies have been my secret shame as of late--I'm really digging the ravenous un-dead. I decided that being a zombie would be perfect because they're just regular people who are dead. And gross.

We deadened-up my pallor and blackened my eyes, but one thing was missing: blood. In a pinch, Terri found some old red, gel frosting in a little tube. It was perfect. I smeared it over my mouth and down my chin and decided I was done.

Marius was hiding in the living room and I decided to go show him my face. His eyes almost popped out of his head.

"What are you?"

"A zombie."

"Why do you have blood on your mouth?"

"Because I eat brains."

"Gross."

He continued to be fascinated and disturbed by my face throughout the night. He would look at me intensely and then gesture toward my mouth and say things like "freaky," or "you need to get rid of that right now."

"You really don't like this, do you?" I asked him.

"No."

"It's not real."

"Not real brains?"

"No," I couldn't help but laugh, "Not real brains."

He leaned close to me and whispered, "I'm not really spiderman, either."

The first day of snow...

O, curse-ed day when snow first flies
O, dreaded sky my heart screams “why?!”
Your wet, white flakes fall down with scorn
Such a cruel welcome to a new day’s morn
I will try, but to no avail
To keep my cool, and not to wail
And, against your truth I will close my eyes
To hide my sorrow and drown my cries
As my boot-ed foot steps out with care
Into the (ugh!) squishy wet everywhere

You can take the blonde out of the hair, but you can't take the blonde out of the girl

I was getting ready to sink the orange ball in a corner pocket (I'm a real pool shark!) when Crishawn walked up and handed me my cell phone.

"You need to talk to Savannah," she said. "She can't find the car."

We were spending the weekend in Park City at Savannah's grandparent's condo to celebrate Crishawn's (Savannah's aunt) birthday. We had just finished the birthday feast and Savannah was heading down the canyon to take Shalamar home (her pesky pooch needed tending) and spend the night in her own bed for easier access to her 8am class at Weber in the morning.

Three things immediately went through my mind:

1-Savannah hasn't looked far enough up the road for the car

2-She accidentally parked in a towing zone and we got towed

3-Someone stole the car (but WHO would bother to steal THAT car?)

Savannah had parked on the street after driving back into the city (with her grandma) on the night of our arrival to rescue Crishawn from running out of gas. Since she had returned, we hadn't moved or even checked on our car, but we both swore that we had seen it that morning as we left to get lunch and take a drive to Sundance.

Cell phone pinned to my ear, I walked out into the crisp, fall night in my bare feet, quizzing Savannah as I went: "Did you lock the car?" "Maybe you parked it further up than you thought." "Did you park in front of a no parking sign?"

As I met her (and Shalamar and Abi schlepping all their bags and other weekend getaway detritus up and down the empty, dark, sharply inclined street) where we thought the car had last been seen, I just couldn't fathom what to do next. I felt strangely calm--and somewhat giddy.

Savannah looked at me pensively, pleading for mercy. We hiked our booties up that hill one more time.

I could not see my car.

I did not see a no parking or tow away sign.

I shrugged and sort of laughed, and kept saying, "I just don't know what to do."

There are times in life when, for no very good reason, your common sense takes leave of you. Hopefully, when that happens, someone else's common sense will charge to the front and take over. Savannah and I met Shal, Abi, and Grandpa Bob at the bottom of the hill. Grandpa Bob was the bearer of common sense.

He and I both discussed the possibilities, and reviewed mine & Savannah's trek up and down the hill. We both said over and over, "I just don't think anyone would steal that car--do you?"

We walked back to the front desk, and Bob asked for the number of the towing company that usually tows around there. As he waited on hold for either confirmation or denial of my car's towed status, I felt my mind drifting away...my auto insurance policy floated by: "full coverage" it said. Even though I knew I would only get what my car is worth, I didn't think I could end up worse off. We had another car--Savannah's. We live right by a FrontRunner station. This wasn't so bad. In fact, having the car stolen would be better in the short-run than having to come up with the money to bail my car out of towing jail.

"You don't have it?" Bob's confident voice jolted me back to reality. "Okay, thanks. I'll try them." Three towing companies later (and one call to law enforcement) yielding no results, we decided to hop into Bob's car and take another look around--this time with the advantage of headlights.

We drove up the street that just minutes ago Savannah and I had scoured. Discouragingly, our earlier assessment was confirmed: the car was not there.

For the hell of it, we decided to drive down to the next street and look there. We hadn't even rounded the corner when those brilliant, BMW headlights landed on our crappy car. Cheers rang out amid several "Hallelujahs!" and at least one "Praise Jesus!"

Savannah had just forgotten on which street she had parked the car. She felt foolish. She was relieved and embarrassed and that led to copious tears. Later, when I called Jeff and Terri to share the excitement of the evening, Jeff (amid raucous laughter) immediately knew what I needed to tell Savannah to make her feel better: "You'll have to tell her about the time you and Terri wandered around five levels of the parking garage at Crossroads Mall for an hour-and-a-half looking for the car."

How quickly the mighty/haughty/gleefully entertained do fall!

Midlife Crisis?

Lately certain concerns have been expressed by my teenage daughters. Concerns that lead them to question whether I am having a "midlife crisis."

Their concerns include the following:
1. Nail Polish: I have been painting my nails in fashionable, trendy colors
like emerald green and midnight blue
2. Skinny Jeans: I have some skinny jeans and I wear them tucked into boots
3. General Teen Scrutiny: e.g. "What's up with your hair? And those boots? And those shorts?

There are a few times in the past ten years or so (sadly) where I have felt like I've been in some kind of pre-midlife crisis--mostly times when I felt compelled to uproot my career and pursue something more "fulfilling."

But painting my nails--and wearing jeans, boots, and shorts--doesn't feel like an outlet for middle-aged rebellion or lost-youth nostalgia.

I asked Terri what she thought. Thankfully, she affirmed my assessment--stating that my nails and jeans seemed "like me," not like some desperate facsimile of me trying to reclaim a piece of my past.

Upon reflection, I had to agree with her. I think that my kids have just started to notice me. As a person. Not just their mom. I think they are seeing me as a woman who has a sense of self-expression and style that they just never noticed before. I think part of them actually likes it, but another part is kind of freaked out.

I don't exactly remember the moment I realized my mom was an actual person--not just some idea of authority and security that constantly buzzed in the background of my life like white noise. But I know that the realization led me to view my mother with more generosity than I had previously. I hope that my kids' realization will lead them down the same path--that this initial judgement and recoiling will give birth to understanding and appreciation.

But maybe that's just wishful thinking. Or, knowing me, I might be skipping right past midlife crisis and jumping straight into dementia.

Some days "pretty" is all you have

I woke up with a niggling feeling of dissatisfaction and ennui.

My alarm didn't go off. I stubbed my toe on the corner of my bed. And I had to find different shoes to wear because my throbbing toe wouldn't fit into the ones I had planned to wear.

On the freeway I was behind a blockade of idiots and all that was playing on the radio was Nickleback, Nirvana or Miley Cyrus.

When I was almost at my exit I realized that I left my jump drive at home and had to turn around and go back to get it.

My gas light had come on the night before and it nearly blinded me with its glare as I raced home to retrieve said jump drive.

I finally got to my borrowed desk and sat back to catch my breath and take a swig of water. It missed my mouth and dribbled down my neck, chest, stomach.

A few minutes later I basically stabbed myself with my pen as I edited a document and left an indignant ink mark on my right breast.

I threw my pen down on my desk and stomped down the hall toward the bathroom to assess the double-whammy damage of my drinking problem and attempted stabbing by writing instrument.

On my way back (after limited damage control) I heard something completely unexpected:

"You look pretty today."

Four words.

Four words that stopped me in my tracks. Made me smile. Helped me catch my breath.

I sat back down at my desk and started fiddling with one of my bracelets. It instantly burst into an inconcievable number of tiny beads and baubles--sprayed all over my work area.

I tossed my head back and let out a laugh that may have been a symptom of dementia

I Hope My Neighbors Love Their Children Too

As someone who is not of the political or religious majority in Utah, people are often surprised to find me defending Utah against the stereotypical ideas that people tend to have about the Beehive State. However, when things happen like the recent upset over the "I Pledge" video shown by the PTA at a local elementary school, I wonder why I ever wasted my breath.

"So let us summon a new spirit of patriotism, of responsibility, where each of us resolves to pitch in and work harder and look after not only ourselves but each other."

Those are the opening words (spoken by the President of the United States) of the controversial video that five parents out of 850 complained about and led to a formal apology by the principal and a permission slip being sent home to allow students to view an educational address by the president encouraging setting goals and working hard.

My kids never brought home a permission slip for a presidential address before--and I would have been appalled, even when George W. was the Commander-in-Chief. I didn't like him (at all), but he was the leader of our country and I tried to respect the office, and teach my kids to do the same.

The outrage over this video in which celebrities state what they, personally, pledge to do (smile, meet my neighbors, stop using plastic bags) to be of service is that some of the things that are important to these Americans (celebrity or not--they are still Americans) are not important to other Americans (even the crazy, paranoid parents of Eagle Bay Elementary are fellow Americans).

Oh, and some say that they pledge to serve the president.

I think all of our service men and women also pledge to serve the president. Are they part of a leftist agenda to turn America into a communist/socialist/Nazi (insert your favorite paranoid political system) state? I don't think so. (And, yes--those are all apocalyptic predictions actually made in the comments to the Deseret News article about the service video snafu!)

It's been so long since we had a leader that was invested in inspiring us to unify and become better tomorrow than we are today, that the mere idea that leadership is about moving people to action (instead of covering your ass) is terrifying.

Or is it the fact that this particular president is a black man?

I don't buy the assertion that race has nothing to do with it.

There is no other reason for the democratically elected leader of our country--who has made education, service, and healthcare top priorities--to be so vehemently hated.

I have read online that Utah isn't the only place where the president's speech to the nation's school children is a topic of fear, paranoia, and outright, ignorant, venomous anger. Part of me would be comforted if this was, in fact, only happening here. After all, many strange and scary things DO only happen here, and I am always reassured to learn that beyond the state lines there is intelligent life out there (for the most part).

It is terrifying to see what's happening in our country. I hope and pray that sense and logic will soon overpower hatred and fear--on all sides. No one is innocent, or immune. We all need to stop looking at one another through liberal or conservative glasses, and start looking through human or American ones.

When I was growing up in the 80's--the cold war, the Berlin Wall, the ever-present fear of a red button being pushed somewhere--America knew who our enemies were, and they were out there in other hemispheres speaking different native tongues. Sting wrote a song that said "I hope the Russians love their children too."

That same terror once inspired by foreign governments and oppressive dictators is now being inspired by our neighbors, our PTA presidents, our cashier at the grocery store, our own leader. It isn't right, it isn't healthy, and this (more than any presidential address or video) will destroy us.

I would like to hear a new version of that Sting song: "I hope my neighbors love their children too."

"Russians" by Sting (edited by me)

In Red and Blue America, there's a growing feeling of hysteria
Conditioned to respond to all the threats
In the rhetorical speeches of the Pundits
The right-wing says we will bury you
I don't subscribe to this point of view
It would be such an ignorant thing to do
If my neighbors love their children too

How can I save my little boy from ignorance and prejudice
There is no monopoly in common sense
On either side of the political fence
We share the same biology
Regardless of ideology
Believe me when I say to you
I hope my neighbors love their children too

There is no historical precedent
To put the words in the mouth of the President
There's no such thing as a winnable war
It's a lie that we don't believe anymore
The left-wing says we will protect you
I don't subscribe to this point of view
Believe me when I say to you
I hope my neighbors love their children too

We share the same biology
Regardless of ideology
What might save us, me, and you
Is if my neighbors love their children too