Miracles Undeserved

As we end the year, and as of 2:25 p.m. on Wednesday the 29 of December I am shamed.

If I am to be honest, I spend a good deal of my time being angry and resentful of a lot of things. I have a very hard time "letting go", "forgiving", "finding joy". And it isn't because I want to be this way. I don't. But it has become such a habit that it seems ingrained as "memory behavior". I don't know how to let go or forgive or find joy. I swear to you I don't.

But this much I know. While I am among the most undeserving of people, God comes through for me again and again and again. And I have no idea why. I can think of uncountable people who are kinder, gentler people. With softer hearts. With unconditional love. And I'm sure God works in their lives too - but He seems to shed miracles on me and my family and I swear, I am getting to a point where I can hardly believe it. Frankly, it is almost scary.

God is awesome. No matter if you don't believe, it is a fact. There is no "luck" or "coincidence". There is no "fate". There is just God. And I am sitting here, trying like hell to figure out why He keeps showing up, so amazingly, in my life.

Our family has had extreme sorrows - but it has also had more than its share of true miracles, witnessed and experienced. And as I sit here today, nursing my grudges, another highly unlikely prayer was answered and I cannot fathom it. And this house will sleep a little easier tonight. And we have NOTHING to do with it.

So at 2:39 p.m. I will post this and thank God that He is good. And I will pray that His blessings on us extend to you as well. And most importantly, I pray for the strength to allow Him to make me a kinder, gentler person - one who might be more deserving of His attention.

Truly, God bless you all.

Christmas Eve Fashions

Christmas Eve is probably my favorite night for holiday tradition. It began in 1963.

The story goes that when we were really little, my mom allowed us to choose one gift to open on Christmas Eve. After a couple of years of watching us choose the biggest and best gift to open prior to "the big morning", she began choosing our Christmas Eve presents to open - and it was always pajamas.

We grew to love this tradition, always knowing it was something fun. Sometimes it was pajamas - sometime a robe. Here we all are with my mom, the year she made us all robes out of towels. She was very creative and clever.

Both my sisters and I have continued with this tradition with our own families and my girls look forward to the night with great anticipation. We have photos of very Christmas Eve with the girls in their new Christmas Eve pajamas. It is always a big deal. And I know they will pass this tradition on to their own children as well.

Here are but a few photos of Christmas Eve festivities and fashions over the years.

Every year it has gotten harder and harder to do as the girls no longer like frilly, girlie nightgowns or cute little girl things - even Grace has shifted into more "fashionable" sleepwear. It has gotten to the point that Christmas Eve pajama shopping has become the most difficult part of the Christmas purchase season. I have to remember size, color preferences, fabric sensitivities, etc. Frankly, while I still enjoyed the event itself, the shopping was no longer fun. It was a chore.

Until this year.

This year, I decided it was time that Bob and I got in on the action and below is the embarrassing (for my girls) result. Corny for sure, but I loved the photo opportunity it presented and I'll never get to do this again.

And only another 365 days to go...

My Stocking

It's one o'clock on Sunday the 19th of December, 2010. It could be any time at all because it is raining cats and dogs and there is no telling where the sun is. In my book , this is Christmas weather and for the first time I am feeling a bit of the season. Unfortunately, since insanity follows where ever I go, my hypochondria is the only thing that mars this afternoon. I have a headache that I feel behind my eye so of course, I have a tumor - but anyway...

I'm looking around the lovely living room (I do have a nice living room) - the tree is up and lit, gifts are wrapped and under the tree. This is the second year in a row where Christmas is smallish on gifts and I am very comfortable with that. I am listening to the Windham Hill Christmas II CD - selection # 10 Bring a Torch Jeanette Isabella and looking around until I spot my Christmas stocking. And among the seasonal items that have become rote over the years, this is one thing that matters. It is magical and it holds all of my Christmases within it.

My Aunt Barbara made it for me, along with one for my sister Linda and my mom before I have memory. I imagine I was about 2 when I got it. I remember every Christmas getting lost in the details of it: the sequins and beads and felt toys and trees. The braided hanger, the stars and the moon and the angels. The star emitting Heaven's light. And the jingle bells along the bottom, under my name "Val", which my aunt always called me. It was so exciting to see it every December - I wanted to wear it - and occasionally did only to hear my mom: "Take those off right now! You're going to ruin them!" But somehow we didn't. It is about one and a half feet tall and it used to go up to my hip. I remember that well.

Christmas morning it was always stuffed - mostly with apples, oranges and nuts - but it had wonderful little things too - nail polish, and those "books" of "Life Savers". A transistor radio when I was about 10 back in the 60's when transistor radios were the equivalent to an iPhone. It bore a note on it that said "For Your Room" as my mom wouldn't tolerate seeing her daughters walking down the street with one glued to their ears - the same objection I have to seeing my kids with their phones. I got my first deodorant (Tussy brand) in my Christmas stocking. That was maybe one of my most exciting gifts as it was a validation that I was growing up. (First deodorants in the Christmas stockings became a tradition I carried down - always to the same delighted reaction).

So I figure that my stocking has been with me for about 51 Christmases. It has seen me through the thrill and joy of childhood Christmases - the smells, sights, and sounds of which still live vividly in my heart and mind as if there were only days and not decades old. It saw me through my teenage years, including the Christmas when at 14, my first boyfriend broke up with me to date the girl across the street. It was hanging there as I looked out the window to see him walking to her house and not mine on Christmas Eve. It was there for my first Christmas on my own in Los Angeles, hanging from a push pin in the wall next to a scrawny tree my roommate and I bought and pathetically decorated with ribbon. It was there all during my brief and incompatible first marriage to a very nice, dear, kind, and good man who, it turned out, was gay. It was there for my first Christmas without my mother. It was there for Christmases when I was single and living on my own and for my first Christmas married to Bob with my new children. And as they grew over the years I watched as they would get lost in the details of my stocking. It was there for Christmases of prosperity and of difficulty. It has been hung every single Christmas since 1959 and has seen everything that each decade had to offer friends and family and song and laughter and even tears. It has worn a bit over the years: some of the beading is loose, a few of the jingle bells have come off and are now held inside. But I have taken good care of it - and it of me.

I am not talented as a seamstress. I could not make one of these if I tried. The rest of my family has nice, store bought stockings. Mine is different from all the rest. When my little sister was born, my mother took the stitching that spelled her name "Carol" off of her own and re-stitched "Elisa" at the bottom. I cannot do the same. I cannot take my name off of mine - even for the benefit of my own children. Because it is not just a stocking. It is a history. It is representative of a whole lifetime of Christmases - mine, specifically. And years from now, when I am gone, it will be viewed by unknown grandchildren as a reminder of a piece of them they do not know - and while they may never know the stories, when they hold it (if they do) they will have a physical evidence of a life of Christmas secrets from someone they have a born connection to. I will be at every Christmas this stocking is brought out for. And I hope it still feels magical. And it is my greatest Christmas wish that it will be as loved as much in 50 years as I love it now.

And thank you Auntie Barbara - I hope you can look down from above and know what this gift has meant to me.

Her Mother's Daughter

Last week the lobby at Grace's school was abuzz with all the thrill that goes with a theatrical "opening night". And, "closing night" too, by the way. The reason was the annual Christmas play starring 3rd, 4th, 5th, and 6th graders. One performance. And Grace had a leading role.

Of course Grace knew her lines within the first 3 days of having the script. I was like that. Her dad? Not so much.

She also knew everyone elses lines. Again, like me. She had great poise on the stage. (Moi?) and a her acting was quite good (we'll throw this bone to Bob, although I have a box full of reviews and critic's awards...). Further, she flew into full diva mode prior to getting to the theatre (or in this case, school). Again, just like mama.

I felt waves of pride as I heard people sitting around me (whom I did not know) remark on how talented she was. When she sang her song, a woman behind me leaned toward her husband and said: "She can sing too?" (Like me, like me!)

So I felt positively deflated when everyone came up to me after the show and told me that "she really takes after her dad". Really!?

(It isn't about you, Valri.) Oh yeah. Hee, hee. I thought it was.

Kidding aside, the truth is, she was pretty good and everyone knew it. We have a lot of Hollywood living out here and I was approached by an actress of some note afterward, suggesting that she should have representation. Of course, everyone says that to everyone - but I think she was being sincere because we spoke at length about it.

I have never been big on children in the industry. I worked with kids in television and it was, for the most part, ugly. Not the kids, but the environment and what they had the potential to become. One need only view the recent performance crotch shots taken of our own Miley Cyrus to see the road most often taken by kids in the business.

And Grace is already DNA wired for high-octane drama (like her mother).

And when discussing the possibility of pursuing and agent for Grace with Bob and her sisters last night, she was unanimously voted by the family as "Most Likely to Let Something Like This Go to Her Head". And we can't have that. She might turn out just like her mother.

Christmas Thoughts

It is 6:12 p.m. on November 30th and I am still sitting at my desk with papers everywhere. I have copies of the Holiday issues of all my competitive magazines trolling the pages for leads I have not yet contacted. I have a deadline looming and I am far from making the number they want me to make. It will take an act of God. Of course, He's done bigger things than this.

To my right is a messy stack of notes and 3x5 cards and 6th-grade level reading material on China - Grace's 6th grade country project. A quick glance tells me that 1 of every 5 people is Chinese. Okay.

I have two half drunk, cold, cups of coffee, a paper plate, my iPhone, calculator, account book and so help me - a lone sock on my desk. And this is my view for the bulk of the day.

But outside, neighbors are putting up Christmas lights. And I have already scored with the Black Friday (yes, I went again) and Cyber Monday shopping sales. And so, Christmas is upon us. Okay.

Now not to be a party pooper - but I don't really feel up for it. The phrase we all hear repeatedly all our lives - "the older you get the faster time flies" - is no myth. It really does. If we all lived to be 1,000 I imagine years would seem like seconds, but as it is now, years seem like just a couple of months. So just a couple of months ago, I packed Christmas up. And so I'm not ready to take it all down again. Even though the girls want to put up the tree this Friday.

And as I am thinking about how the spirit of the season eludes me and what few things I still need to check off my list, I am hearing the nightly news in the background and about the numbers of people still jobless, losing homes, lining up at the food banks, living in cars or on the street. There is currently only 1 job for every 5 people who need one. And that is in this country. Nearly everyone in a third world country would consider the worst conditions here a luxury.

So I start thinking about Christmas and wonder what it really is, after all. About how far I (and frankly, most of us) have strayed from the point. I bet God cries at Christmas every year. Because Christmas has become about lighting your house, parties, and Macy's. Not that there is anything wrong with any of those things in and of themselves - but they really take precedence over anything else we think about. In fact, with the possible exception of Christmas Eve candle light services, it is probably all we think about.

And then I wonder if any of us has the courage to be completely selfless and dump Christmas altogether, be the hands of the one this holiday is supposed to actually be about in the first place, and do something substantial to change someone else's life for the better. Even if its just for Christmas.

Tough time to face the face we need to face.

Surviving "The Club"

For anyone who lives on Mars and doesn't know, Costco is a bulk grocery warehouse store that also sells coffins. You have to pay to belong to it and show your membership card to get in. It is a "club". There are employees whose entire job it is to check to make sure you have a valid club card. If you are willing to pay the annual membership dues, lucky you! You're "in". So you can say that you belong t0 an exclusive (albeit aesthetically unappealing)club in case you have always wanted to be able to say that. I should also tell you that Costco sells TV's, clothes, toys, electronics of all kinds, books, dvds, dishes, appliances, engagement rings, pianos, granite counter tops, furniture, and spa memberships among a trillion other things. In bulk. I think you can even get a divorce there.

So with that setup, as we approach the season of mass food consumption and gift-giving, I thought I might take a moment to help you prepare for the Costco experience.

I'll start by saying when you should avoid going to Costco. Don't go to Costco if:

1. you are in a bad mood.

2. you are in a good mood and don't want to be in a bad mood.

3. you have forgotten to take your meds.

4. you have taken your meds but are not absolutely certain you are on a high enough dosage.

5. you suffer from any kind of anxiety disorder.

6. you are high-strung.

7. you feel your mental health is precarious in any way.

8. you can't swallow aspirin without water. (*Note. The only exception to this rule is if you happen to be there to buy bottled water. Otherwise you will have to buy 75 bottles of bottled water just to relieve your Costco-induced headache.

9. you aren't prepared to hate people.

If none of these describe you, it is safe to proceed to Costco. If you must.

The first thing I have learned to remember is that only a novice thinks she can get a parking space close to the door. And there are plenty of them clogging up the parking aisles. I resign myself to driving into the furthest entrance to seek that back corner space. I'm prepared for the 1/2 mile hike to the store entrance. Exercise is good for for me. (Oh, one should never wear anything other than running shoes to "the club". Anything other than that and you will be spotted for what you are: "new Costco". Newbies get mowed down inside. You don't want to look like one.

Once inside, you will immediately notice the difference between "new Costco" and "old Costco". "Old Costco" wears the uniform: Running shoes, leggings, long cable knit pull-over sweater with sleeves rolled up to three-quarter length. She uses her over-sized shopping cart with the finesse of an offensive linebacker playing in the Superbowl - rapidly maneuvering between slow or standstill members temporarily paralyzed by the sheer volume of choice, she darts through the concrete aisles without so much as a graze against another cart. She has purpose. She owns Costco.

Alternatively, "new Costco" is wearing shoes unsuitable for prolonged walking on cement and is either crying or having a nervous breakdown. I can usually be spotted in this category.

I will say that one of the perks of Costco is something my friend Jan calls "dining at the club". There are at least 12 sampling stations set up annoyingly at the corner of most every food aisle, allowing you a taste of a myriad of foods the club wants to push. It is true however, that you can nearly eat a full lunch just by sampling. But you have to commit to being part of the clog in the aisles and you have to at least feign an interest in the product lest everyone else trying to get by looks at you with anger for being part of a major flow problem for no reason other than to be a pig. And what you get is the luck of the draw. Some days the most tasty thing they offer may be frozen waffles.

It can be good place to buy bulk items like paper towels or frequently used canned goods, toothpaste, that kind of thing. But do you ever really need ketchup in bulk? I mean, doesn't the average sized ketchup last you about a month or two anyway? Or tampons. You need to multiply the number of child-bearing years you have by 12 annual cycles to see if you will ever need the 30,000 count you will get with a bulk buy. There are times when a "savings" just doesn't make sense.

Today I was there for printer ink. But once you're in you cannot just buy what you came for. You realize that you have to take advantage of the fact you are already there and pick up a few other items. I bought pies for Thanksgiving. (They make good pies). I bought a box containing 4 bottles of eye drops for my dry eye condition. It should last till I'm 60. I bought (in bulk) "Marie Callender's Chicken Pot Pies since my family loves them (except me) and they make an easy lunch. I bought turkey burgers and I bought pre-made Kirkland (their brand) hamburgers. Hamburger is expensive at the local market and these seemed a good deal. Although I am taking a risk. (Once I bought them and found a frozen fly between two of the patties). I bought salmon and wondered where it came from in view of what we're hearing about imported fish these days. For "lunch" I sampled salami, chips and cinnamon rolls. But it all came at a price much greater than my annual membership dues. All the while, I worked to dodge the oncoming traffic from every direction of at least 3,000 other people who were there at the same time as me. I worked to patiently get around the elderly (patience, not being one of my virtues, was difficult to muster). I worked to stay away from the giant forklifts moving pallets of food. I worked to keep from screaming. I was thrust into defensive mode and said "I beg your pardon" at least seven times every 60 seconds. My cart and I got trapped between unmoving shoppers at least 6 times while I was there. I felt like Olivia deHavilland in the movie "Snakepit" where she is wrongfully placed in an insane asylum. I tried to find a place where I was somewhat out-of-the-way to re-group so I could try to get a handle on what I should get "since I'm here, dammit". I remembered my Lamaze breathing techniques that I didn't use during child birth (took the epidural right off) to see if they would help me get through the waves of a throbbing headache (I was not buying water today). I closed my eyes and tried to calm myself. No matter where I stood I was in someone's way and I felt a massive anxiety attack coming on. So after an hour and only 8 items in the basket, I went straight to check out where the "savings" no longer makes sense because you never get out of there for less than $200.00. And I always forget that they don't bag, don't even offer bags - which means an afternoon of unloading the car at home - item by item.

But I am home now and lying down. My breathing has returned to normal and my right eye no longer feels like it is going to pop out of my head. I can walk without fear of vertigo. I survived the ordeal without needing a medical escort out. But of course - I forgot the printer ink.

God help me. A Costco coffin feels about right, right now.

I Want My Own Apartment

Yesterday, I posted this as my "status" on Facebook. Immediately I had several women (and one male friend with designs for a loft) chime in - all in agreement. Clearly, I hit a nerve. So I thought I would state a few more things that I want and see how well they all resonate.

1. I want my own apartment.

2. I want a doorman.

3. I want fresh flowers.

4. I want my laundry washed, dried, ironed, folded, hung and put away for me.

5. I want to do my own cooking.

6. I want to know how to cook.

7. I want my girlfriends (and guy friends) to come and have intelligent conversations with me.

8. I want my husband to arrive showered and shaved.

9. I want my husband to love to talk to me.

10. I want my husband to wear matching socks.

11. I want my husband to know how to fix or build anything.

12. I want my husband to be able to read my mind (when I want him to).

13. I want my children to be Mensa smart.

14. I want my children to think like me.

15. I want my children to want what I want for them.

16. I want my children to be just like me (without all the crap).

17. I want my work to be hard enough to be challenging but not so hard that it is stressful.

18. I want to travel the world.

19. I want to have my life mean something.

20. I want to know God really well.

21. I want more joy in my life.

22. I want every child to have a parent who loves them and cares for them well.

23. I want no one to be hungry.

24. I want everyone to have a decent roof over their heads.

25. I want good health care for everyone - somehow.

26. I want decent paying jobs for everyone who needs one.

27. I want a reasonable, working economy.

28. I want to trust a politician.

29. I want Glen Beck and Rush Limbaugh to go away.

30. I want Gloria Allred to do away.

31. I want a great housekeeper once a week and I will keep it up the rest of the time.

32. I want my home to be organized and warm and when it gets too crazy I want a retreat.

33. I want my own apartment.

That should do it.

For today.