I actually love Nancy Pelosi, a brilliant tiny, elderly, Catholic woman who never raises her voice to stand her ground. That POTUS disdains only her raises her higher in my esteem. When members of the House began to applaud after she read the First Article of Impeachment, they were stopped instantly with that look from her that every child of a mother knows only too well. Except POTUS, I guess. Can we blame bad parenting, bad genetic heritage , or bad teaching for how he turned out? I swear, If I’d been his 8th-grade teacher, he would not have turned out like this. I used to say, “Can you see Mrs. Urbanski’s face from there? Sometimes it doesn’t take an act of Congress.
Every new year for the past decade or so, I have chosen a word to be my behavioral mantra for the year. Most of them, have become a part of me and I have just kept adding on. I don’t usually mention this practice or the specific word to people. That could be very annoying.
I haven’t yet decided on a single word for 2020, but I’m working on it. I think it may have to do with saying no, but only because that will give me the opportunity to say yes to lots of other things.
“There is something profoundly liberating about aging: an attitude that comes hard won,” wrote Dominique Browning. “At a certain age, you begin to say, with great aplomb: “I never really liked doing that, so I’m just not going to any more.” (Long list to follow during the year.)
Some things I’m not going to do any more were a matter of pride anyway. Getting up on a ladder to prune my bay tree. Hoisting my kayaks up on the top of the car by myself. Driving in the dark. That kind of stuff.
But I am also going to say no to things I just don’t want to waste time doing. Going places I don’t want to go. Spending time with people I don’t like.
Granted, there are some things I really loved doing that I don’t go any more. Jogging half-an-hour first thing every morning. Riding horses. Riding a bicycle. Okay. Moving right along.
Is it really Christmastime if you don’t have to go out and fiddle with the lights?
Wearing heavy gloves, I always prune my holly tree on a sunny day in July and make sure the lights are all ready to just flip the switch in December. You can’t even see them until I turn them on, so I just leave them there. Holly leaves are like needles so you really don’t want to tangle with them.
Of course, some of the strings are old. Some have been replaced with newer ones over the years. All different kinds of adaptors are required to get the old same-sized-two-prongs to marry the two -pronged-two-sized ones and the three pronged grounded ones. I am well-equipped for this;
This old house had no outdoor outlets when I moved in, so I had this one installed on the front porch some years ago.
Always worked fine until, for some reason, it decided to start tripping its own little circuit breaker last night. Ah, well. I just ran an extension cord around the house, through the snug window, and and plugged it in there. Closed the gap with tape in a holiday color and set up the timer.
Today is the third Sunday of Advent. I remember when all the candles were purple. Now three are blue and one is pink. Pink is for the third Sunday, or Mary Sunday.
We read a lot of annunciation scriptures and sing a lot of Magnificats. Odd because if you count back nine months, the annunciation should have occurred in March.
I laughed very inappropriately in front of every annunciation painting and mosaic I saw on my travels. Mary is consistently depicted as a serene, fair-skinned young girl, richly dressed, usually reading, being impregnated by a bolt of light to her head, streaming from a dove. She doesn’t even flinch. At the very least, she would have been momentarily terrified.
Then there is the business about everyone somehow getting the taxation mandate that he had to get back to his hometown to register. Apparently, Joseph’s hood was Bethlehem. It wasn’t Mary’s. Besides which, who goes anywhere with a woman who is about to give birth? Surely she would have been left in the loving care of the womenfolk of her family.
What can we believe about this? What even matters?
What I know for sure is that every year at this time, during these short days and long dark nights, my “heart” always feels different. A little happier. Hopeful. Joyful.
I especially remember all the things my mother did to make this a magical time for me. I remember decorating lots of Christmas trees with her. One year, I wanted an all blue and silver tree, and she made that happen. One year there were those bubbly tree lights. One year we whipped up melted wax in her mixer to make snow to decorate home-made candles. She helped me buy and wrap lots of little presents for all my cousins and friends. She let me help her make lots of candy. She sat at the piano where we played and sang carols. I know all the words to every one. They sing in my head every December.
Mary is sometimes thought of as the perfect mother. Pure, beautiful, submissive. I don’t know about any of that or if it even matters. She wasn’t a role model for my mother or for me.
What truths can we take from the ancient stories of the annunciation or the birth in Bethlehem?
I’ll just go with the special feeling I have in my heart every year.
This 20-year-old Chevy Tahoe has been a member of our family longer than a lot of people have stuck around. 🙂 Above, she is in Montana this year.
I call her the X-Rated Dominatrix because of the letters on her Oregon license plate.
She really belongs to Elizabeth and has lived in nearly every western state and has rested up in my back 40 when E. was working in places like Samoa and Guam. I have shared some great adventures in that truck when she turns into a 4-wheeler!
