I Resolve. Again.

Oh crap! Its December 30th and time to formulate a bunch of resolutions that never seem to make it past the 10th of January. But let's try again, shall we?

Number one: For the 12th year in a row, lose weight. In past years, this resolution has also been called "bikini by birthday" and then the more modest "bathing suit by birthday". Now we could easily call it "less stress on your knees by birthday". Or "give the ol' ticker a break by birthday". I have 50 lbs to lose. Five - Oh. And at an aggressive goal of 2 lbs per week (which no one maintains), that would put me just about there by June 21 when I will be one year older. And that, by the way, is spelled: Ooooo-Ellllllllll-Deeeeeee-Eeeeeee-Ahhhhhhhhhhrr. And it makes me consider as well, if I lose this weight, having lost the elasticity of youthful skin, will I look like a basset hound? These and other questions I must ponder.

Number two: Find a job. This is a brand new resolution - and one that I find is, to a degree, out of my hands. So perhaps I should say "Continue to pray to find a new job. One with benefits for the whole family." Of course, assurance of success in this resolution would have to include a subset of resolutions, those being A) Have a college degree bestowed upon me and B) become 35 again. And I'm totally up for that one! Of course there is another, previously mentioned resolution that couldn't hurt either: lose weight. I have learned it matters.

Number three: Learn to cook. Because I have learned to make a couple of fabulous dishes that are about 400 calories. Per bite. Now I need to learn to make delicious things that take absolutely NO effort (and that seems to be key) that are low in calories and healthy as well. So that I can maybe lose weight.

Number four: Exercise. I have experienced that it is not so much "use it or lose it" as it is "use it or watch it fall to the floor". I understand that there is another benefit to this resolution. I hear you lose weight.

Number five: Be more disciplined. Create a schedule and stick to it. Includes time for prayer and devotion, time for reading, time for exercise. Every day. Which means I would necessarily stick to the resolutions. Which should lead to - lose weight.

I'm seeing an overall theme here...

Back in the Saddle

Well, its December 26th, the presents are opened, left-overs in the refrigerator, house needs cleaning and I'm on the computer trolling job sites.

Christmas has left me optimistic but each job listing that I KNOW I can do, offers challenges in getting past the computer screening process. Meanwhile, Bob's business keeps plugging along - real estate being "The Little Engine That Could" these days - at least for us. There is enough in the pipeline to make me feel relatively secure and by the way, what ever happened to me getting my real estate license? Time to blow the dust off those books. Again.

I feel oddly anxious. Learning to take one day at a time is a challenge. I feel in many ways I have been successful but then I look around and and wonder what things will look like tomorrow. While I was on Disney's payroll until April, assuming I don't get a job by Thursday, I will have spent the past 343 days not working - and that is just so completely weird. I have dreams of past jobs and being back at them. Round Table Pizza. Montgomery Wards. Kelly Services. Nickelodeon. Disney. I am sort of reliving my life while trying to work out my future in my sleep. Then I wake up and have no idea what to do with myself.

I am looking at all the bells hanging on our Christmas tree and remembering the famous line from "Its A Wonderful Life" when Zuzu says: "Look daddy! Teacher says that every time a bell rings an angel gets it's wings". Knowing that a teacher would no longer be able to make that statement to her class without threat of losing her job because of a lawsuit brought on by organizations dedicated to protecting the rights of those who suffer irrevocably from talk of angels in a public building, perhaps we can change it to: "Look daddy! Teacher says that every time a bell rings, an unemployed California resident gets a job". Why not? Its as good a fantasy as angels getting their wings to the sound of bells. At the very least it could be encouraging.

Another movie comes to mind. "Leap of Faith" where Steve Martin plays a scamming evangelical preacher. He delivered one of my favorite movie quotes ever: "There is only one thing bigger that the 'big fear'. That's the big faith!"

Merry Christmas

Well, in spite of the fact that I was done shopping and wrapped on "Black Friday" as previously reported, there was still a lot of last minute craziness to contend with before the day was done. The girls had a lot of wrapping to do still, we attended the 6:00 service at our church, we opened the traditional Christmas Eve present (pajamas), we played a game of Scrabble and we watched the annual airing of "Its A Wonderful Life". Again. That movie is 63 years old.

So here it is 1:09 Christmas morning and I am just getting around to getting to bed. And I'm not terribly tired which means I will be tomorrow morning. But I have to pause and write what is on my heart right now.

I am not an "evangelical". I have many friends who practice other religions or faiths. Some of my friends believe in an universal god, or god as an energy. Some don't believe in god at all. But I am a Christian and I believe in God as a creator of all things and that Jesus is the Messiah and Savior. And if that offends anyone today, well so be it.

But here is what is on my heart. Untold instances where my faith has been rewarded in evidences of answered prayer. A promise of forgiveness and love and peace. And what gets so confused by so many because of so few is the fact that Jesus did not come to condemn but to save. Which means he has mercy and love for everyone. No matter who, no matter what. You can't earn his love by good deeds. You can't so something so wrong as to be outside of his grace. He simply loves us. Period. Whether we like it or not. This means he loves Christians AND EVERYONE ELSE. Jews, Gentiles, Muslim, Buddhists, gays and straights, criminals and saints, the mega rich and the starving poor, and even the most horrible of us. And all that is required is that we accept him - of our own free will. Not because someone brainwashed us. Not because someone scared us with fire and brimstone. Not because we were "born Christian". Because we needed him and wanted him. And if we seek him with our hearts we WILL find him and we will have the peace he promises in this life and the next. And we come as we are. And what happens after that is up to you and him because it is a unique relationship. And no one can tell you otherwise. But the truth will set you free. Jesus said that he was the way, the truth and the life. And this is what I believe. This is what I know.

So I give great thanks this morning for a miracle that happened two thousand years ago. It has sustained me this year and for many before. And while I sincerely wish you a Happy Kwanzaa and a Happy Hanukkah too, today I wish everyone a Happy Christmas. Because it is Christmas.

And God bless us everone.

The Magic of Santa

Santa is wonderful. I do not understand parents who choose not to bring their children up believing in his magic. He has played such a great role in my life and the lives of my children.

When I was little, I remember the whole idea of Santa - his house at the North Pole, his elves, his reindeer, his coming down MY chimney, his letters left at the hearth thanking us for the cookies and milk as one of the great treasures of the world! I would pray Christmas Eve night to please, please make me go to sleep so that he could come (since everyone knows Santa can't come until you're asleep). The poem "Twas the Night Before Christmas" was not a poem at all, but rather a first hand experience - no an evidence - that Santa did come! As if I needed evidence. Santa just was. Everyone knew it. After all, presents that were not there when the whole family went to bed the night before were there! How else could it be explained. As if I needed an explanation. Santa just was real. One of the wonderful, magical facts of life.

One of the greatest joys of my parenthood was creating the reality of Santa for my girls. I remember telling them when the twins were 3 and Amanda was 5, that if they woke up and found new slippers on the floor by their beds it meant that Santa had come and they could get up and have a look. The next morning Amanda came running into our room gleefully showing us her new slippers: "He came!! He came!! Get up, he came!" The twins were still a little young to understand it all so I went into their room where they was sitting on their beds with smiles knowing that something wonderful was happening, but not sure exactly what. "Look Christine," I said, picking up her slippers to show her. I had gotten them little Disney slippers - the toes of which had little Minnie Mouse heads on them. "Look what Santa left for you". And then, her precious little face lit up with her famous smile. She looked at them and then at me and I could see she felt the magic, the love and the wonder of it all and I will never forget that moment as long as I live because I thought to myself: "I gave my babies this".

For years Santa came to our house the week before Christmas. Sometimes Mrs. Claus came

too. We would tell him in advance some of the girls' accomplishments and activities so he was able to come in and talk to them of it. This just solidified to them that he really did "know when they'd been bad or good" and at Christmas time I could always count on exceptional cooperation from them. Santa and Mrs Clause would talk to the girls and sing songs with them. They'd always read a story and give them a candy cane. They would tell them all the news of the North Pole like which reindeer was not feeling too well, which elf won employee of the year. It was fascinating. But every year Amanda would beg to see the reindeer. Santa always had to come up with a good reason for her not being able to see them. Fortunately we live at the top of a hill so the reindeer usually stayed at the base of the hill to graze on neighbor's grass (we didn't have much for them at our place). One year, shortly after Santa and Mrs. Claus left our home, I happened to see in the black sky outside our living room window the flashing red light of a distant airplane. "Look girls!" I shouted. "Come see - there's Rudolf!!" Oh my gosh - they squealed with delight, jumping up and down, they screamed "There's Rudolf! There's Rudolf! There's Santa flying away. Bye Santa!" They ran around the house and danced and sang. They could not believe their good fortune for having actually seen Santa and his reindeer flying through the air.

When Grace was born, the girls only had about a year of believing left in them so we all focused on Grace and made sure she got all the same experiences for the next several years. (Except Santa didn't come to the house anymore because as wonderful as Santa and Mrs. Claus are, they don't come cheap!) But one day near her 7th Christmas she announced she didn't believe in Santa. Most of her classmates didn't believe and she had figured out that reindeer could not, in fact, fly, nor could Santa get his fat self down a chimney. I for one was not ready for my baby to give up on Santa. We had been invited to a friend's Christmas Eve party and they were to have the best Santa appearing that night. I told Grace that the real Santa would be there and that she should reserve her judgement until she saw him. She just rolled her eyes.

Later at the party, Santa held court and read and talked and Grace just sat there staring at him suspiciously with her arms folded. When he asked if anyone had any questions, her arm shot up. He looked at her and said: "What do you want to ask Santa?" She replied (with a "prove it" tone in her voice), arms still folded across her chest: "How do reindeer fly?" He drew her right up in front of him and we snapped this photo of his response to her. "Do you believe in me?", he asked. Grace reluctantly nodded her head. "That's what makes reindeer fly!" And that was all she had to hear - he was real to her all over again. And it made Bob tear up. Me too.

So Grace is 10 now and the girls are all grown up and this is the first year in nearly 20 that Santa is not coming to our house. It is strange. But I know he'll be back when the girls have their own children. And hopefully they will draw upon their own magical memories to be able to start it up all over again. I may leave out milk and cookies anyway. Wouldn't it be marvelous if there was a note waiting for me in the morning?

Amanda

To say that my daughter Amanda and I have had a tumultuous relationship would be a tremendous understatement. I wonder if it is because we share no genes that we have such a difficult time understanding one another. She is very much like her birth mother, Anne. Since she only was with her mother for the first 20 months of her life it is amazing to me to see the similarities. I loved Anne like my sister. I love Amanda; she is my daughter. But the wild and crazy qualities that make an ideal sister are not necessarily the same you would hope for in a ideal daughter.

Now you need to understand that Amanda is a truly great person. She is a people magnet and people don't just love her, they LOVE her. (Like an ideal sister.) Part of what makes people love her is 1)There is absolutely nothing Amanda wouldn't do for a friend, and 2) There is apparently nothing Amanda wouldn't do. Period.

This has been the case with Amanda since the beginning. At first it was darling - she was fearless, jumping into every experience she could get into. But once she got into elementary school it became clear that this was a girl who liked to live on "the edge" and I have spent my life avoiding the edge. You can fall off the edge. I was determined to make certain that she didn't fall. But what I was to learn was that no one, least of all me, could tell her what to do. Her fierce independence wouldn't allow it. She saw herself as the pilot of her own plane and she was not about to become anyone's passenger - even if they just wanted to teach her to fly. She'd figure it out on her own. And while she crashed on occasion - she didn't burn.

Now don't get me wrong. She doesn't do drugs. She doesn't belong to a cult. She doesn't walk naked through the streets (at least I hope she doesn't - she might have... Oh God! Lalalalalalalalalalalalala-I-am-not-hearing-hear-that-thought-lalalala..) But Amanda, like Anne, loves an "adventure". "An adventure" is defined by something most people wouldn't do and preferably, offers a little bit danger. Oh! and yes - if it will piss me off - it gets thrown to

the top of "1,000,000 things Amanda needs to do before she dies" list. Least among those 1,000,000 things to do that pissed me off was to make sure that no photo of her existed without either a modern day Ann-Margret, sex kitten, kissie pose or one that featured her tongue. Most everything Amanda did in high school pissed me off. I am still picking the pieces of my brain off the ceilings from the uncountable times my head spontaneously exploded upon learning what she was up to. And as you have gathered by now (if you've been reading my blogs), "Live and Let Live" is not my motto. Mine is more "An Eye for an Eye". So I feel fairly certain some of her brains are up there co-mingled with mine. We were at war for four long years. It was painful. At one point she wanted to go to court to seek legal emancipation from me. Honest to God, that made me laugh for months. As if! But actually, sometimes it was that bad between us.

ANYWAY, I'll spare you all the stories. And in fact, they are not all bad. She could be charming and lovely and very kind and good. But if you had a rebellious child in high school, you know. If you're not there yet, good luck. The point I want to get at is that it all changed with college. Three years into university and away from me and she is perfect - well almost. She is an incredible student. She has a goal that she is making happen - by herself. She is responsible. She is kind. She is compassionate. She has amazing self control. She is a grown up. And yet...

And yet... we still have a hard time understanding each other. Trying to find our way is a bit like one step forward, two steps back. And when she makes choices I do not agree with or are in conflict with my beliefs, I feel like I am being slapped in the face. With an iron skillet. So this week, we had a big confrontation. About something that is very important to me. Not so important to her. And she chose to cross a line her dad and I drew and everyone involved got very hurt by the uproar it caused. And it still feels bruised.

BUT...

The Ehlers Danlos Syndrome Network Cares charity was one of the 100 out of 500,000 charities competing that won $25,000 from Chase Bank's Community Giving program/contest by gathering nearly 2,000 votes via Facebook. And while many people worked very hard to get people to vote (including myself), Amanda was relentless. Once she had exhausted her list of 700+ "friends" on Facebook, she got her friends to give her their passwords and she went after their friends. Working way past midnight, when college kids are just coming to life (like vampires!) she'd go on "chat" and I could see the numbers adding on the totals. She took her computer to school and to church and hounded people. She did it constantly and she didn't stop until they closed the voting polls.

And she did this because she is determined to save her sisters. And she will do anything it takes. She told me she had a conversation with God. She told Him she wanted to do something

HUGE! He told her to get started with this. She also told me she knew we would get the money because God told her He would make it happen. I am not going to argue with her because God talks to me as well. He told me not to worry about my girls - that they are going to be alright. But seeing Amanda's faith in action put me to shame. And if God is using Amanda - in spite of the fact that she crossed my "line" - perhaps I better let it go. Because apparently what is important to me isn't so important in the bigger picture. She is, after all, not my little girl anymore. She is an adult.

She's an amazing woman, Amanda. And you would LOVE her! I do.

The Nutcracker. Again.

My husband, Bob is a dancer. He's a really good one too. Half his career was spent as a dancer and I still love to see him tap. I don't know how anyone does that and he does it really well. But he's also a ballet dancer. Which comes with its drawbacks. Namely, we have to see The Nutcracker every year.

Now I have nothing against the Nutcracker but there are parts of it that are V-E-R-Y-S-L-O-W. Particularly everything in the first half. And then the second half of the second half. (In fairness, I have seen it uncountable times, sometimes more than once a year.)

When we were first married, Bob could never sit still. No matter what he was doing, watching TV, doing dishes, etc., he would do it while he did a barre. At night, he would go out on the lawn and dance with an ancient, heavy iron boat anchor (yes, a real one) and leap and dance with it to build his strength. He would work relentlessly on his "turns in second", building up to doing 32 in a row. He could jump and do a double pirouette in the air before landing. He could do lots of beautiful things that I don't have the names for. He would video tape himself and wince at his mistakes or strut with pleasure at his success. It was impressive, yes, but over time, it drove me nuts. He would watch Nureyev or Barishnikov and begrudgingly give them their due, but would gleefully point out their weaknesses. I didn't care - they looked flawless to me, but what the heck - it made him feel better to "level the field", as it were.

Every dance company where we live produces an annual Nutcracker. There are a zillion to choose from, it seems. Years ago, when we first moved here and he danced with one of the local companies, he danced rather significant roles. He would strut his stuff (or leap his stuff or pirouette his stuff or whatever other impressive ballet maneuvers he could do "back in the day") to some of the more exciting music from The Nutcracker. Especially the Russian Dance. We watched him excitedly as he spun nearly out of control to the wild applause of the audience at the big Civic Arts Plaza here in town. We're on year 9 or 10 and the past several years his roles have diminished in direct relation to his speed and abilities. Any dancer will tell you, dance is a sport - an extremely taxing one and it takes a terrible toll on a dancer's body over time. Bob gets up each morning with stiffness and occasional pain and waddles his first few steps until he gets in gear. In stubborn denial, he blames the mattress.

He was in rehearsal Thursday night and the timing was off musically. He turned too soon and got hit in the mouth by a ballerina. Out came half his front tooth. So much for the delicate flowers we see prancing around the stage. Those chicks are lethal!

So this year, at 49, Bob is the "Mouse King" which requires little athletically. He is also

"Mother Ginger", his opportunity to dress in drag and be rolled out on to the stage by about 50 little children hiding under his skirt.

That I want to see!

Part II

Saw it. Bob was hilarious as Mother Ginger. Milton Berle reincarnated. Just hilarious!! After mugging it up with raised eyebrows and kissy-faces to the children flowing out from under him, he fanned himself, primped himself, posed himself, led the audience in applause for the children, feigned demureness, flirted comically and as they rolled him off stage, he opened wide his arms and mouthed the words: "I Love You ALL!" He got lots of laughs and applause. And he did it all without totally upstaging the children. No easy feat.

He was ridiculous. I was very proud.

The Value of Impressionism

Oh. My. Gosh. WHY can't my house stay clean for 24 hours? Please unlock that mystery for me. Someone???? I am sitting in the family room, a fairly simple room that flows into the kitchen. Yesterday it was in very nice order. Today the chairs are askew and the cushions misshapen. The coffee table has several different papers belonging to any number of people in my family and I have no idea whether or not a single one of them is important. To my left is a plate that once held a quesadilla and a half empty coffee cup from this morning. In front of me is a plate with dessert crumbs and a mug with a lifeless tea bag floating in it (sitting next to an empty coaster) -both from last night. The bar stools are a study in organizational corruption, one of them is holding a belt. In the kitchen every other cabinet door is open. A large brown paper bag holds bagels Jenny brought home last night, on the counter is baking soda, crumbled paper towels, coffee, two pans on the stove, assorted glasses, cups, and mugs, a bag of tortillas, two empty cereal boxes, two bottles of TUMS, and one dripping faucet. It would take so little to keep it up. And yet, so much.

So I take my glasses off and it all becomes a blurr - like some sort of still life from the impressionist era. I look at it all through my fuzzy, uncorrected vision and try to find the artistic beauty - and while I may not be successful, I am at least distracted. Distracted enough to pick my glasses up and not put them on again until I stand and leave this room to walk to a tidier one.