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When Shannon and Isaac left Chicaago for Miami three months ago, they packed Ikey's room up and shipped it to California. Yesterday, after brunch, Brooke kept Ike while Isaac, Camille, Shannon and her dad and I went to set up his room for him. When he returned at 7, Shannon told him that Santa moved his whole room from Chicago to California. :) He was coy. He was delighted. He was home again....
My niece brought her fiance to meet the family yesterday. Oh Boy. Did he get an initiation. The brunch table was in rare form. The boys sang quite the duet:
"aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhAAAAHHHH"
"aaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH"
And the finale:
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
I think the helmets were in case the roof caved in. Welcome to the family, David!
Maya's Granny recently posted a template for this kind of, sort of, meme. I'd post a link to it too, if I knew how. Until I do, here is my version of "Where Am I From". I'm hoping to get my whole family to participate when we gather for New Year's Eve. It was quite an exercise. Here goes:
I am from the Catholic parish that was a good, long, hilly walk from my house, from sky blue popsicles purchased at Mills Market and PF Flyers that could make me jump high and run fast.
I am from the flat in the Sunset District, with brown speckled, tile stairs where the boogie-man lurked, a crib in my parent’s tiny bedroom and the sound of streetcars clanging arrivals and departures. I am from streetlights slanting a golden washboard through the Venetian Blinds at night, and smocked dresses.
I am from a move to the suburbs, church festivals and knowing every neighbor on the block; from Calvin and Geraldine, and my very own Busha, Mary Agnes Cahill. I am from Cedar Avenue, where I counted the red and green flashes of the aiport lights in bed at night. I am from the sound of the meat turning on the barbecue and the Giants game on the transistor radio. I am from the eucalyptus trees that sheltered the pond in the back of the church lot, and from that very pond, from it’s shores where I pushed off with the fallen tree limb, to worlds that existed only in my little girl’s mind. I am from the crying room of the church where I gave all my attention to the little babies I would have some day. I am from hanging fuchsias, red and pink ballerinas dancing over my head; I am from warm, juicy strawberries grown in my daddy’s garden, berries so big they filled my little fist. I am from Glamus McBeth, my collie dog, mud pies decorated with blossoms and Little Joe Cartwright and Dr. Kildare, my first loves.
I am from the Saturday laundry whipping on the clothesline and Sunday Mass. I am from ironed sheets and fresh air. From Grace before meals and girls get their periods because Eve ate the apple. I am from homemade skateboards, hula hoops, Silly Putty, and rides on the electric lawnmower. I am from Diane, my cousin, who lived on Lois Lane, in Vallejo. I am from the Gatenbeins, the Sanders, the Glenns, the Rosses, the Hendersons and the Cacciaris. I am from the apple trees in Uncle Lou’s backyard. I am from Go-Go boots and the Beatles playing on my record player. I am from the Foglesongs and their six daughters who treated me like number seven. I am from their crazy messy household with day old baked goods and ducks roaming free in the yard.
I am from a clearly catholic upbringing; one that was the center of my life, my social experience and the beginning of my political awareness. I am the perfect child and student, loved by the pastor, who grew into the pregnant teen, who shamed them all. I am from the tiny apartments and a true mama’s heart that proved herself again. I am the young mother who christened all my children Catholic, just in case mom was right and they’d go to Limbo; I am from that place of yearning for more, the one that reached out far and wide, longing to find the spiritual spark of the whole world. I am from Mercy Convent and People’s Temple. I am from dusty track fields, pom-poms and Haight Ashbury.
I am from the young Oklahoma farm boy, who stole chickens and ended up in the Navy, and the beautiful, poor, fashion queen who played tennis when you could still walk at night in the Mission District. I am from racial slurs that I thought were normal. From Poland and Ireland. From chicken fried steak and sweet and sour cabbage. I am from free love and the confessional. I am from a father who tried to learn acceptance from my children and me.
I am from a whole circle of strong women, the Polish grandmother who left a drunk, abusive Irish husband and never remarried. I am from this woman who worked three jobs to raise three young children on her own in the 30’s. The one who got fired from her bakery job for giving a little boy an extra squirt of jelly in his donut. The one my Dad, the policeman, found making out with her boyfriend in the backseat of a shiny Oldsmobile. The one with the pious face and the twinkle in her eye. From the spinster aunts who went everywhere with us and bickered night and day with each other while cherishing me deeply. I am from these three women, Mary, Ann, and Julie, who are my namesakes. From a family in Oklahoma who live long lives and who I barely knew. From Granny Frost who birthed her babies on the farm and served lunch to Pretty Boy Floyd and his crew when they showed up at her backdoor one hot summer day. From Granny Dunning who played on the floor with the kids, farted loudly and had bed bugs in her sheets. From my Aunt Bonnie whom I’ve always been sad that she was no blood relation to me. It’s all about the twinkle in the eyes.
I am from that old brown suitcase full of photos that my mom lugs around from move to move. Photos of unknown people whose blood pulses through my own body. I am related to Robert E Lee, but then, isn’t everybody? I am from my father’s reputation left behind with the cops in the city. I am from his humor, his forthrightness and his simplicity. I am smiling from the pages of high school yearbooks, on the arm of my first love, the father of three of my children. The young high school janitor. The boy who was my husband for 11 years. I am from the blues. The sad song singing from the saxophone of my second husband who broke my heart. I am from Barry the older hippie and Michael the Navy Seal who left me weak in the knees, and Stevematts, whom I said goodbye to twice, yet he chiseled some ice from my heart. I am from Eddie Spaghetti who never quite let me in before he died. I am from Joette, Rozanne, Jill, Dorothy, Charlene and Sheila. Whether the 30’s or the 90’s I am from a strong line of strong women. I am from all women who stand on their own two feet with a trusting heart. I am from the English Cottage on Gresham Street in Ashland with the view of the Cascades from the front and a service alley in the back where the crazy guy lived in the old boxcar; I am from the bullet in my son’s arm and the compassion in his heart. I am from the road back home in a U Haul truck, with children, dogs, the bird, peanut butter sandwiches and only my integrity left. I am from surrounding green, red, yellow vineyards and the bungalow in the oak trees. I am from the huge Meyer lemon tree in the yard that froze to death one winter and has since risen from the ashes.
I am from that longed for diversity that my children finally showed to me. I am from the wool of sheep and llamas and bunnies. I am from candlelight and solitude. I am from the edge of the earth saying, “Come along.” to so many little children. I am from the green recliner where I knit and watch my mother grow old. I am from the fruit of my womb who go and who come back. I am from prayer and meditation and gratitude. I am from my openness in this earthly place and trying to do it right. I am from Imagination and Hope. I am from God and Goddess, the moon and the stars and the dust in the corners. I am from you. And you are from me.
My whole family was together again last night. All five children, spouses where accurate, and grandsons. Life is wonderful! It was an easy evening of cousins getting to know one another again, a delicious sausage-potato-kale soup that Brooke makes, hearty laughter, good conversation. Mainly that sense of wholeness. That sense of knowing that my fledglings were all in one nest. These moments are fleeting, but there is this golden piece of ribbon, spun from the straw of my nest, that somehow, some way, is carried throughout the world and followed back home. My friends tell me that I am lucky beyond belief. I smile. I know that. I pray my gratitude each day.
Ane then there were the regular "creatures" we always have over for dinner:
So...a couple of knitting projects going on. And today, I went to the doctors because I felt like I was having a bout with asthma. I simply wanted a new inhaler. Instead, I spent four hours, getting 4 x-rays, a blood test, a diagnosis of pneumonia, and three prescriptions to fill. And dammit, wouldn't ya know it, it was the day I didn't bring along any knitting or reading material. Had I brought them, I would be showing you some FO's and telling you about my latest read. Instead, I will show you one finished object and two half-done objects. What do we call that? An HFO?
#1 This is a scarf, so soft you can probably feel it just by looking at it. It is knitted with a kit that I bought over Thanksgiving,at Jimmy Bean's Yarns, in Truckee. It is worked on size 17 needles, with two strands at a time. Simple Simon. One strand is Isis, and the other is Zanziba, by Colinette Yarns. It knitted up in a breeze and is delightful to touch. I no longer have the labels, so I'm not sure, but it feels like cotton chenille and merino wool. It's basically a lovely, soft yellow.
I tried for a close up in natural light on that first photo. It's pretty true to color. Here is the whole scarf:
I've also completed one of Camille's cashmere Fetching wrist warmers. This is a belated Christmas gift. No matter how I tried I couldn't finish them in time. The yarn is a cashmere by Plymouth Yarms. My boss is making socks out of the same yarn, in green, and I fell in love with it's butteryness. One more to go!
And here is one of the slippers I am making for Ike. The shearling/suede soles are store bought. The body of the slipper is knitted with straight needles, flat, and then seamed and sewn into the sole. I am using Manos del Uruguay on these, in a rainbow red color. Very rich jewel tones.
So there ya have it. Tomorrow I have two more doctor's appointments (allergy testing and good ol Mamo Gram.) And you can bet I'll remember my knitting this time!
Mom has fallen a couple of times in the past month. The first time she fell in her bathroom early in the morning and didn't have the strength to get herself back up. She pulled herself out to the living room over the course of the day; I finally got her message at 5:00. This was the day, the one day, that Brooke didn't call her 5 times. Poor Brooke. Murphy's law.The path of her journey from the bathroom to the living room was marked with all of the little bits and pieces of carpet dirt she found and placed up on tables and the seat of chairs along the way.Then on Friday, she fell again outside of her house, as she was returning from the hairdressers. This time the upstairs neighbor and her daughter were out and they helped her up and got her settled. Both times she hit the back of her head.
Over the weekend we noticed that she is very confused; more confused than normal. While talking to her on the phone, she put the phone in her lap and continued talking, certain that I was there. After she picked the phone back up, I explained to her that I wasn't there. Finally, after much explanation, she seemed to get it. I needed to call her back right after we hung up and her salutation to me was, "Hi Mare. How'd you get home so quick?" I guess she didn't get it after all.
Last night we were expecting a huge wind and rain storm. I went over to check her flashlight and battery situation. I figured I'd bring some Christmas eve leftovers and eat dinner with her. She also wanted to shower and doesn't like to shower alone in case she falls. I just sat and had a long phone conversation with Shannon and did some longed for, knitting. Mom said it felt good to get cleaned up and put on her new cotton velour jammies and Ugg slippers. Our conversation went as it always tends to go these days, to the past. She is living in her memories. But I sat there and wondered just when and how the pictures in her mind had changed. Some of the stories (actually, all of the stories) I already knew and the plot...her plot...was rewritten. It made me sad, that my family history from her perspective can no longer be trusted as accurate. Oh, she still enjoys telling the stories, you can see the smile of happy thoughts in her eyes. But these tales have been moved to the fiction table. A Million Little Pieces, all muddled together "as truth, by God."
Today I think I will call her doctor. She says she's had a headache ever since her fall. That coincides with the raised occurances of confusion. Brooke thinks that she may have a head injury.
This time of year holds great spiritual intention for me. The Twelve Holy Nights span the days between Christmas and the Epiphany, January 6. My personal belief is that these are the nights when the veil flutters, thin as can be, between our world and the spiritual world. These are the days that our deceased loved ones are close by. These are the days when the little star children ready to come to earth, peer down from the heavens and choose their new families. And it is my practice during these twelve nights, to go to sleep with the psychic intention of dreaming messages from my angels and my guides. I keep a journal by my bedside and jot any details I can remember as I awaken from a dream. Some say that you can coincide each night with each month of the upcoming year. And if you meditate on the details you can invision the work that needs attention in your new year. Some years I've done this. Others, I've fasted as well. Last night I had a restless sleep and I didn't dream. Tonight I'm going to bed early with more intention.
As all evolving human beings, I am eager for an epiphany. And this season, pregnant with possibility, holds the key.
I forgot to show you the stocking and the Nativity dolls that I made for Satchel. You can better see the detail if you click on the image.
Here is Joseph and Mary and Baby Jesus. The Baby is placed in Mary's arms on Christmas Eve, while Satchel sleeps. I will add to the nativity scene each year. Ike has the same....
Satchel and I had a sleepover on Friday night. I found myself fitting every holiday plan I had for him and me into one small space of time, and it was really ok. It was still quite peaceful and relaxed. We read the new Christmas book that I got for him, about 73 times. Kidding, but we did read it a lot, complete with stomping feet and jingling bells:
He made a gingerbread chalet with the girls:
On Saturday morning we had our usual pancake breakfast, but this day I made him a Frosty with blueberry buttons! OK, don't laugh. It was free hand without a mold or cutout. Satch LOVED it...but we had to sing Frosty the Snowman once in his honor, before we cut him up for consumption!
Christmas Eve was small and intimate. I love my family and always enjoy their company, without exception. Zak took Satchel and my mom to 4:00 mass, the children's mass. Nanny lives for these events and Zak and Isaac are the ones to allow her this delight. Unfailingly. Brooke had Satchel all spiffy in the softest, coziest suit and bow tie. My mom burst her buttons with her guys. I served crab and french bread as an appetizer, lasagne and a winter salad for the main course, and Satchel, his mama and I all went to the bakery in the morning to choose the desserts. It was another of the simple moments, my favorite moments, that I will treasure from this holiday....to stop, mid-bustle, and take the time to choose together, our treats from the bakery counter window. Satchel's opinion included. Even though I didn't have time to bake with him this year, this option, (a trip to the bakery with the sole purpose of choosing desserts to please the family) filled that magical place:
This morning we all went to Brooke and Matt's for breakfast and gift opening. We had the traditional Christmas casserole; it is yummy, but a heart attack waiting to happen! Here you see a bit of the munchies we enjoyed: some beautiful soft goat cheese spreads, our favorite shortbread from Uncle Jocko, and mimosas!
And guess who showed up?
And guess what he brought Satchel?
And everyone enjoyed the festivities!
Peace and Love to you and yours....namaste.
Thursday morning, time to leave for work, need to stop and pick up cake for the potluck, and then I remember... I need a white elephant gift for the faculty holiday party. Wat to do-what to do....
There is a large santa gift bag sitting in the corner...what's big enough to go in there, and entertaining enough to be fun? I open my nightstand drawer. Oh yeah! Last year ex-husband went crazy with the wind-up flashlights that need no battery. Somehow I ended up with three and here they are.
A large santa gift bag and a self-generated flashlight. Hmmmmm. And 5 minutes, absolutely ONLY five minutes left to go until I HAVE to leave. I know! A roadside emergency kit! Yes! That is what large santa bag became. And this is what it contained when I walked out the door:
One wind up flashlight
One-half book of matches
One-half bottle of brandy
One ball of wool yarn
One pair of knitting needles
One roll of toilet paper
One box of Q-tips
One bottle of water
One disposable diaper
One cheap fleece blanket
One cat's cradle
Two energy bars....
Siiiiix finger toothbrushes....
Molly, the gardening teacher was the happy recipient!
The party was really very fun. The eggnog and the woodstove, delightful. I work with an incredible bunch of human beings. I feel so blessed.
