Our family took our train trip to Northern Cali yesterday. Unlike what John B said, the train did not dump us out in the middle of nowhere or derail anywhere along the way. The view along the coast was absolutely stunning. I highly recommend it. I listened to Stephen Ambrose’s Nothing Like it in the World (about the development of the RRs in the West) as we rode along. The perfect accompaniment to a train trip!…
December 2005
When C was little he often talked about setting New Year’s “revolutions.” At the time it was so cute, yet it always gave me pause. Do we really think that we can change our lives in some dramatic way merely because it is the beginning of a new calendar year?
For the past 3 years or so my only New Year’s resolution has been not to set any resolutions. I’m thinking of breaking the pattern this year and actually setting some goals.
What about you? Do you do resolutions? What do you resolve? Do you ever keep them?
Christmas was wonderful this year.
As always, Mom outdid herself with the food, the gifts, and the holiday decor. We ate gourmet Italian food for Xmas Eve dinner, unwrapped gifts for 4 hours(!), and enjoyed many hours of family togetherness afterwards.
Perhaps the highlight of the day (both literally and figuratively) was the diet coke/mentos experiment on the cul-de-sac outside. The 12 ft high diet coke spew was a sight to behold. :) Though I was sort of annoyed at the boys for hibernating with the five networked computers to play Starcraft, I liked that the girls got to watch “Frontier House” and the “Curiosities of the Isle of Man.” Both were great.
The drive home last night from Bfield was a long one. To break up the time we pulled off the road for a bit ad headed for a strip mall. After some lackluster Mexican food, we all walked into a Michael’s store together. A part of me thought that the after-Christmas sales would be enticing–all that gift wrap and decor at half-price.
But it wasn’t even enticing. It was sad. So many red bows, so much glitter, sparkles, feathers, miniatures, etc. That the “day after” their glitz was dimmed by the dinginess of the store aisles and their obvious undesirability. It’s that feeling that one has when coming home from a trip and seeing the tree and the decorations all around the house. Knowing that it has to all be put away and that, soon enough, it will be time to put it all back up again.
PS: the photo is from our Legoland jaunt on the day before Christmas :)
Last weekend we watched The Chronicles of Narnia. Added to the special thrill of seeing the movie as a family, was that we watched it with C’s whole school class and their families (7 of C’s classmates have sibs in E’s class–most of them girls). So though all the Remys were in the same theater, the kiddoes sat just about _as far as possible_ from their parents who snuggled together in the soft seats and tried to pretend that they were on a date totally by themselves (instead of being surrounded by elem school kids who called us Mr and Mrs Remy. blech).
Of course it was a lovely movie. The young actors who played Lucy, Susan, Edmund and Peter were all the more endearing for their British accents and lack of obvious orthodontic work. As always, the emotional tug that occurs when Aslan is sacrificed was a potent moment. I particularly like the way that Lucy and Susan embraced the dead lion’s body afterwards. It reminded me of my last embrace of my father’s body after he stopped breathing. A haunting flashback.
But why the story oh-so-powerful this time around was that I could relate to the Pevensie’s worship of Aslan in a new way. As the kids buried their hands in his mane, or as Aslan breathed life into the Witch’s cold statues, I was absorbed in recalling the tender feelings that I have for our two cats (and for all of catkind, pretty generally).
No doubt my feelings were magnified by the fact that just that morning I’d taken Ellycat to the vet for her shots. And, unfortunately, sweet ragdoll Elly turns into a cat-from-hell as she nears Northwood Animal Hospital. I’d taken her in safely ensconsed in her kennel (which they quickly plastered with signs saying “EXTREME CAUTION: Demon Kitty Aboard”), and left her to be ‘gassed’ so she could get her routine checkup, flea shot, and bath. I’d brought her home just before we left for the movie and watched her transformation from howling, hissing wet hyena to docile Ellycat. She was still a bit loopy from the meds when we left the house and was efficiently licking off the bath smell under our bed.
Elly is the only creature that comes between John and I. She nestles in the hollow between our bodies each night and purrs up a storm as we drift off to sleep. When I nap she snuggles with me, too, though generally on my lower back or legs. Though my love for cats is a relatively recent phenomenon, I now can’t imagine a life without them. They delight me. They calm me. For me, their affection is a symbol of my own deep-seated craving for unconditional love.
When I was younger I never thought much about why Lewis’ Savior was a lion–except, maybe because of the ‘king of the jungle’ thing. But now I know that Clive Staples must’ve known, and loved, cats. As I now do.
Last night, as a Christmas present, John took me to see men in tights. Um,… I mean The Nutcracker.
The last time John and I watched ballet was a bit of a disaster, so he wanted to make it up to me. Very thoughtful of him! :) The show was preceded by dinner in a lovely little French restaurant (who knew that an Irvine strip mall could have such charm). :)
Though I am still a bit miffed that John didn’t discreetly take a picture of Clara’s throne in fairyland for the Internet. It was so funny–surrounded by huge stuffed purple ‘sugarplums’, which looked more like huge plummy butts than any kind of fruity confection.
Everywhere I’ve gone in the last few days I’ve gotten the same question from people:
“Are you ready for Christmas?”
The first time I got this question (about 3 weeks ago) I was at the doctor’s office and I was still in the throes of classes. I think I shocked the receptionist when I answered,
“No, I haven’t really even thought about it yet.”
She gave me a weird look in response. I started to qualify my answer, explaining that I can’t really ‘think’ about Xmas until after finals week, etc. But the weird look stayed on her face….
And yesterday, when all of the other women at church were chatting about their holiday preparations, I realized that I must really be strange. One lady was saying how she doesn’t mind if she can’t quite get all the decor up in time–it makes it just that much more fun the next year when she ‘rediscovers’ the stuff she didn’t use. Another was talking about the hassle of mailing packages overseas early, etc. I sat back and was very quiet. I thought about how quickly my one box of Christmas paraphenalia can be put up and taken down (2 hours, tops), and how our easy-to-assemble fake tree takes about 20 seconds to put together.
Several years ago I decided that I wouldn’t ever make my holiday preparations complicated because I didn’t want the decorating headaches–esp the one that comes after Christmas when it takes weeks to get all the decorations put away.
Ironically, each year the process becomes simpler, not more complex. So when other people are moaning about being “ready,” I have little to add. And while they’re fretting about the Martha-like perfection of their preparations, I’m sitting in a patch of sunshine on the LR floor with Ellycat–listening to carols, basking in the warm glow, and savoring every moment of the holiday season.
E is standing over my shoulder goading me.
“You need to update your blog, MOM!”
The kids have started reading what I write here. Just two nights ago C was sitting at the Mac, doubled over in laughter.
“What’s so funny?,” I asked.
“Maybe they tasted almost the same going down as coming back up?”
More sniggering.
Then today, E asked me what “vudka” was.
“Why do you need to know that?
“Because it’s in all the answers to the Russian Composer Test.”
So it’s one thing to have the entire Internet reading my blog. It’s a wholly different thing to have my kids reading it.
My new fav quote:
“The Greeks…bequeathed to us one of the most beautiful words in our language–the word ‘enthusiasm’–en theos–a god within. The grandeur of human actions is measured by the inspiration from which they spring. Happy is he who bears a god within, and who obeys it.”
–Louis Pasteur
Almost every day I take a nap. I started napping during my college days (the first time around), and I’ve been unable to break the habit since then.
When my kids were little I would take _really_ short 10 minute naps. I would pile up their favorite toys in a kid-friendly, non-choking hazard corner the LR and lay down on the floor across the entryway so I would wake up if they exited the room. For the most part it worked really well. I got my 20 winks and I woke up a much nicer Mom.
As they got older the kids sometimes took advantage of my naps. Like the time when E was about 3 years old and her favorite food was American cheese slices. I had a big stack of them on the inside of the fridge door so she could help herself whenever she wanted one. This was also the time of E’s life when she was always on my body [ like a baby monkey–she also spent a lot of time ‘grooming’ me–searching my scalp for flakes of dandruff, cleaning my ears, picking at any of my bumps/scabs/pimples/etc]. When I napped she was usually lying on or near me. I got used to it and usually slept through it. So this one day, she decided to use my napping self as a table for a cheese slice picnic. (Of course I didn’t know it–I was sleeping!) A few hours later, after John had come home for dinner and I was headed out the door to a church meeting, he ever-so-calmly remarked that I might want to know that I had cheese slices stuck to the seat of my pants….
Well. I suspect that now that the kids are older they still, um, “take advantage” of my sleeping time. Like today, when a lovely package of sinful dark chocolate arrived from my friend Linda. E spied the chocolate and then looked up at me with her big brown eyes:
“Mom, don’t you think you’re getting tired…Um, don’t you think it’s about time for your nap now?”
[Of course, my suspicions that E had her eye on my chocolate was confirmed after dinner when I unwrapped a chocolate and E–still eating her dinner–leaned over my hands and immediately started a coughing fit. Garlic fries spewing all over my dessert. Her way of marking her territory, I suppose….]
Yesterday I went to GameBoy’s parent-teacher conference. At his teacher’s request, GB accompanied me to the appointment. What followed was 20 minutes of praise for my super-amazing son.
GB truly is a wonderful human being. He’s humble, generous, thoughtful, smart, and full of delight. GameBoy never does anything halfway. He acts with his whole heart, body and mind. He doesn’t willfully break the rules, or lie, or deceive for personal gain. He is without guile.
I worry, sometimes, what will happen to this sweet child as he enters middle school, as he moves on with his life and encounters people who will take advantage of his sincerity [Though this has happened a few times already, like the naughty boys who taught him the middle finger, but didn’t tell him what the gesture _really_ meant. Then GameBoy demonstrated ‘the bird’ in front of his 1st grade class and got in trouble. silly boys.]
GameBoy definitely doesn’t take after me. He is his father’s son. Like GB, John is so honest that many people don’t know how to react to him, who is so compassionate [even I am often quite mystified by this sensitive creature that I married]. I found a poem a few years ago that always reminds me of John:
Who prey upon them with IBM eyes
And sell their hearts and guts for martinis at noon.
There are men too gentle for a savage world
Who dream instead of snow and children and Halloween
And wonder if the leaves will change their color soon.
There are men too gentle to live among wolves
Who anoint them for burial with greedy claws
And murder them for a merchant’s profit and gain.
There are men too gentle for a corporate world
Who dream instead of Easter eggs and fragrant grass
And pause to hear the distant whistle of a train.
There are men too gentle to live among wolves
Who devour them with apetite and search
For other men to prey upon and suck their childhood dry.
There are men too gentle for an accountant’s world
Who dream instead of Easter eggs and fragrant grass
And search for beauty in the mystery of the sky.
There are men too gentle to live among wolves
Who toss them like a lost and wounded dove
Such gentle men are lonely in a merchant’s world
Unless they have a gentle one to love.
-James Kavanaugh
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