one little word 2014

Well, hello and Happy Twenty-Fourteen!

I hope your holidays were spectacular. Over here in Blah Blah Land, we were felled by nasty colds the week before Christmas. By 3 pm Christmas Day, the kids were still not out of their pajamas and any chance of us getting to my in-laws' for dinner was twisting in the wind, as neither Sweet Dub nor I could summon the gumption to peel ourselves off the couch. We actually did not do much of anything until the weekend. You'd think I could sit down at the keyboard at least once but obviously I was just too far gone for even that!

Moving on: here we are, and I have spent some precious moments doing a bit of a "Year in Review" in my journal and setting some priorities (NOT resolutions, you know how I am) for the coming year. I also caught up a bit on my blog reading and ran across the "one little word" concept, thanks to Elise over at enJOY it. I think I vaguely remember it from last year, when I considered it but decided then to create a mantra rather than just one word. I am a late adopter.

At any rate, one little word is a concept originally developed by Ali Edwards. She asks:

Can you identify a single word that sums up what you want for yourself in [the coming year]? 

It can be something tangible or intangible. It could be a thought or a feeling or an emotion. It can be singular or plural. The key is to find something that has personal meaning for you.

The idea is to find a word that you want to guide your steps over the next year. One little word didn't come to me right away -- I considered and rejected several, and then: STRETCH popped into my mind. Ba-bam, that's the one.

Why STRETCH? Because in 2014:

I want to move my body more.
I want to expand my horizons.
I want to get outside of my comfort zone.
I want to increase and enhance my skills.
I want to move beyond my current parameters.

I don't, however, want to increase my waistline. STRETCH pants are not the angle I'm going for. (Although I did get two new pairs of yoga pants for Christmas and they are bomb.)

How's about you? You got one little word?

Thankfully

Thanksgiving, man. Not a good day to be my pants. - Kevin James

Wishing you all a day of elastic or drawstring waistlines. Wishing you a day of abundance not only in food, not only in thanks, but in family, friends, love, contentment, comfort, and all the things that are the opposite of stress. Wishing you peace. 

 

Happy Thanksgiving!

Cynthia

In my mind, she is about 28 years old, laughing, dark eyes flashing, with a navy bandana holding back her dark hair, slim and lovely in a sleeveless white top and jeans. She is more beautiful and wonderful than anything, and if I can make her laugh, it fills my heart to bursting, so I clown around and make goofy jokes and funny faces. When she laughs, I can’t even stand how much I love her. I hug her over and over as hard as I can. I snuggle with her and bury my head in the fold of her neck, and breathe in deep. She holds me close. We read together. My sister joins the pile. We sing. We weave our fingers together. We dance around the living room.

She teaches me to be curious, to express myself. She embraces my love of color. She buys me art supplies, takes me to museums. We sing a lot – in the car, to the radio, and at home, to LPs. She loves Motown and the Beatles. We read constantly. We draw, we play games. We do yoga. Sometimes she is sad, and she can’t explain to me why. It hurts my heart when she cries. I climb up on the bed and hug her and wipe her face with my sweaty little hands. She smiles and she cries and she hugs me back.

We are poor. She plans for things months in advance, and on Christmas Day and on birthdays it is like a miracle. There are boxes to open, and toys to play with. How much does she go without so we can have these things?

It is a golden time, when she is the star in my universe. My sister and I are her whole world.

Things change. Today I don’t recognize her. The only commonality seems to be the sadness. She is unhappy with how her life has turned out. We disagree about so many things. Now when we talk it is like we are speaking through some strange device that garbles our words as they come out. We can’t understand each other.

She gave me such a huge gift. So much of how I am raising my children comes from those early childhood experiences. Somewhere along the line, my mother lost her way. She grew clay feet. She exposed her flaws. Natural, it happens. We are all human and imperfect.

But having given unconditional love, she now looks for unconditional support. Even for decisions that are flawed, actions that are hurtful. I struggle with how to deal with her.

As Mother’s Day looms, I try to be mindful of these old memories. I want to be with my children on Mother’s Day – not to get gifts or be fed breakfast in bed, but just to hold them. And sing a little. And maybe dance around the living room. And maybe that’s the best way to honor my mom.

Rainy Days and Mondays

It's raining and chilly here in Southern Cal and that makes me want to do not much of anything.

Despite the rain, after dropping Viva off at school I motored on and interviewed a childcare provider today and (dare I say it?), it looks like we may actually have secured a spot for our little one next month. I really like the director of the program, I like the philosophy of the center (for those keeping score at home, they use the RIE approach) and it's only 5 minutes from my job.

As far as the other kid: we have made the decision to suck it up and leave Viva at her current school, even though we will probably have to dip into our savings to pay for it for the next six months. I still want to get her into the decent public school in our neighborhood, but I have to go through a permit process to try and get her in for September since we are outside the boundaries. (Yes! How can it be more of a struggle to get her into public school? I don't get it.) We don't want to move her twice in one year, so we will keep her where she is. Errrgh. Ye gods.

In holiday news: what are the odds that I'll get Christmas cards out this year? Scratch that - what are the odds that I'll get Christmas cards with a photo of the family on them out this year? I'm thinking those odds are not good. The only photo I have of Viva and Cily is very grainy, but maybe I could make kind of an artsy card...

This is on my mind because we recently processed some 35mm film from this summer. I wish I had a beautiful photo like this of my two girls together:

Viva peeking out from the pear tree in our (former) front yard. Sadly, the only picture I have of the two of them (besides the grainy one taken off the videocamera) is of me pregnant with Cily, hanging out with Viva:

I don't think this really counts as a picture of the two of them. By the by, I can't figure out why the scanner is putting those black bars on the side of the photos. It's wildly irritating to me. But I love this series of photos and I wanted to share and I can't find the photo CD that has these shots on it. And let's be real, it's difficult enough for me to get on the computer these days...

Viva dancing around the front yard...

Aaaand... Miss Cily's up. Time to go attend to her every whim...

Hooray for Love!

It's the wonder of the world,
It's a rocket to the moon
It gets you high, it gets you low,
But once you get that glow...

Here's to my best romance,
Here's to my worst romance
Here's to my first romance - ages ago
Here's to the boys I've kissed, and to complete the list
Here's to the boys who said "No!"

Love, love, hooray for love
Who was ever too blase for love
Make this the night for love
If we have to fight, let's fight for love

Some sigh and cry for love
Ah, but in Pa-ree they die for love
Some waste away for love
Just the same - hooray for love!

It's the rocket to the moon,
With a touch of "Clare de Lune"
It gets you high, it gets you low,
But once you get that glow...

Some trust to fate for love,
Others have to take off weight for love
Some go berzerk for love
Loafers even go to work for love

Sad songs are sobbed for love
People have their noses bobbed for love
Some say we pay for love
Just the same - hooray for love!

One of my favorite love songs is "Hooray for Love" as sung by the legendary Ella Fitzgerald. It's just so exuberant and happy and fun. Love to you and yours and Happy Valentine's Day!

12 30 07 Blog Blackout

Hello, and welcome to our program.

 

Since returning to work from medical leave, I have been far too busy to blog at work.  And since my Internet capacity at home lately seems to be quite hit and miss, I'm not posting from home either.  Right now, I am typing this at home on Sunday in Word and hoping to be able to post it later – perhaps Wednesday when I am back at work, when it will be three days old and late late late.  I can't even email this to myself or to the blog because of my irritating Internet access (read, lack thereof).  I am not sure whether my old modem is just not communicating with my wireless modem or what on God's green earth exactly is happening, but it is irritating that when one finally gets oneself together to post something, one can't because one's high-tech gadgets have decided to get all temperamental on one's ass.  Why, for example, can one be searching on Google one minute and the next get an error message saying one is not connected to the Internet?  This is the type of thing that might make a person with anger management issues rip the modem out of the wall and toss it into the fireplace.

 

Fortunately, I have been reading a lot of Zen work lately, so I choose to view this as the best possible thing that could happen.  Perhaps there is a good reason I haven't been able to blog.  It will all reveal itself to me, and I will in turn reveal it to you, and then we will all have a good jolly laugh and eat piles of frosted donuts.

 

I hope you weren't worried during this long blog silence.  Fear not, the Blah Blah family members all are fairly well, excepting our runny noses.  Our Christmas season was not without its drama, but we enjoyed it nonetheless.

 

All the best to you and yours.

---

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Have a Holly Jolly Christmas

Happy Holidays! Have Some Spam

This morning, I have received 21 spam e-mails on my work computer. I wish there was some way to let it be known that I am not male and do not need Viagra or other, er, enhancement. And as far as I know, my husband and I are both quite happy with his existing equipment.

That’s all. There, I said it.

Obligatory Cute Christmas Story

Viva: Let me sing you a song.

Mama B: That would be fabulous, baby, go ahead.

Viva: [singing heartily] Feliz NabiDAH! Feliz NabiDAH! I wanna wish you a Merry Christmas at the bottom of my HEARRRRTT! [repeats ten times, dancing and swinging arms in graceful arcs]

Mama B: That was beautiful. I bet it is really beautiful at the bottom of your heart.

Viva: [scowls] No, Mama, that’s just part of the song.

Mama B: [because the Cuteness! Is! Too! Much!] I love you so.

Viva: [meltingly] Oh, I love you too.

Not So Cute

Last night, Sweet Dub and I were talking about what to do about Viva’s future education. Should we send her to the public school down the street next year, as she will be old enough to go to kindergarten and we will no longer have to pay for school? How bad is the local public school anyway? Well, I went online for a refresher on what the school’s demographics are, what its test scores look like, etc., courtesy of the LAUSD website. They’re actually pretty decent when all is said and done. But then I Googled the school to see if I could get any “nonpartisan” feedback about it and I discovered that some very involved parents at the school have created a Website. “Hey, this might not be bad,” I said to Sweet Dub. The parents noted that the school’s performance as tracked by test scores has consistently improved over the past five years and that they had been able to secure some private grants to make improvements to the school. All well and good. Then I read a post that there is evidently a registered pedophile living across the street from the school.

Yes, you read that right. This person served time for lewd and lascivious acts with a person under the age of 14, and then moved in close proximity to an elementary school. According to the parents, school staff is aware he is there and they all know what he looks like. And according to the LAPD, he isn’t doing anything illegal just by living there, because he served his time, he is through his parole, and he hasn’t been accused of further criminal activity. But just because it’s legal, doesn’t make it right. It’s like a recovering alcoholic moving across the street from a bar.

This means he lives just a few blocks from us. You can say all you want that they’re everywhere. If you look on your state’s sex offender registration database, it will make you crazy. There are 20 in my ZIP code alone, and many (including the guy down the street) are in violation, which means they haven’t checked in with the state when they were supposed to. You can go here if you live in California – or Google Megan’s Law to search in a different state.

I am at work right now, and I just glanced at a photo of Viva beaming at me from her homemade Mother’s Day card and I felt simultaneously the urge to cry and throw up at the idea that someone just might not be able to help himself from hurting her. Needless to say, we’re still working out our kindergarten plans.

On A Lighter Note

Because I just can’t leave you like that (and I certainly didn’t start this post intending to take you on a journey down the Road of Creepiness), I bring you this:

Report: Nation’s Wealthy Cruelly Deprived Of True Meaning Of Christmas
The nation’s poor get to experience true Christmas spirit, while the wealthy, burdened by shopping and party obligations, are left out in the cold.


Report: Nation's Wealthy Cruelly Deprived Of True Meaning Of Christmas.

In the absence of The Daily Show (when O when will the writer’s strike end??), this is not a bad substitute for the type of features I would expect to see at this time of year. Enjoy, and keep away from the fruitcake.*

* I don't mean myself.

Where is Christ in Christmas?

"Santa died for our gifts and rose from the dead and moved to the North Pole and because of that, every year Santa comes down to forgive us our sins and give us eternal presents."

- Jazmine, explaining "the true meaning of Christmas" to Riley in "A Huey Freeman Christmas," a.k.a. The Boondocks Christmas Special.

That show is frickin' hilarious.