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Now that Christmas is over and we are three days into the new year, it’s time to take down the decorations, straighten things up, and forge head long into the question of how to get that artificial tree back into the box it came in?  I know it came in that box, but it is clearly a foot and a half too fat to go back in! Why? The branches fold up on themselves. I alternate directions, the same way you find a new pair of shoes, and it’s still overflowing the top of the box! I wonder if the tree was originally packaged by gorillas at the San Diego Zoo jumping on it until the top of the box can be easily closed, but I’m sure, if I look closely, I will find that the tree is made in China. China! A country where only 1% of the population is Christian, and few celebrate the holiday. Serves me right! Maybe an adorable panda could be put on loan to assist me?

I have five, yes five, plastic storage crates full of Christmas decorations. Though things didn’t get put back exactly where they came from, they are nestled inside those crates, and though I needed to firmly press down on a couple while trying to snap the lid closed, closed they are! Now back to that tree!  I don’t know why I keep looking at it. Looking at it won’t help.

Topping off the tree conundrum is the large envelope that arrived from our CPA just prior to the new year. It’s our tax planner to be fill out. Happy New Year to you too, Mary! I can’t be the only person who hasn’t drawn up a chair in front of the mailbox to excitedly await the arrival of the W-2. Surely I am not alone in not having neat piles of bank statements, investment records, 1099’s, and 1098’s, 1090-whatever’s, W-2’s, sharpened pencils, erasers, calculator, and the IRS hotline number on speed dial just waiting to go January 1st!

Can we all just take a moment!? Enjoy the breath of fresh air that comes with the new year? I promise I will get right on that tax stuff…just as soon as I figure out how to get that tree back in the box! I have until April 15th, right?

I’ve been noticing some disturbing articles in the news lately. They seem to always pop up around Christmastime when some individuals think it’s the best time of year to interpret the 1st Amendment incorrectly as freedom “from”religion, not freedom “of” religion. First there was the Climax Mine in Colorado that removed a lighted cross from the mill building where it has stood as a beacon at Christmastime since the 1930’s, and in spite of the outcry from the townspeople. The owners decided to instead choose something more secular, to be more “inclusive” of their employees. It’s little wonder that most of us have come to realize that “inclusive” is code for “excluding Christians”. Then there was the town in Indiana that was sued for placing a cross atop their city Christmas tree. Apparently one man in town contacted the ACLU about it, saying that he was “harmed” by having to look at that. Harmed was an interesting choice of words for a cross on top of a Christmas tree. Perhaps he really meant offended, but he couldn’t sue for damages, which he did, if he were just offended. Last night I saw a report on the news of a pentagram placed in a park in Boca Raton next to the nativity scene. The man who placed it there wouldn’t comment to the press about why, but in accordance with his 1st amendment rights he applied for a permit to do so, and it was granted. Good grief, Charlie Brown and Bah Humbug!

Let’s be clear here, Christmas is a Christian holiday. It is the day when Christians celebrate the birth of the Christ child, hence the name Christmas. Few Christians have ever said that you can’t celebrate Christmas if you’re not a Christian. That leaves room for Frosty, Rudolph, and Santa. And since we’re speaking of Santa, Santa is a caricature of St. Nicholaus, a 4th century saint known for protecting children and giving gifts. But, if you don’t need to be a Christian to celebrate Christmas, why do some people insist that Christians have to be “non-Christian” about the way they celebrate it?

Somehow the greeting of “Happy Holidays” has also come under attack, but this one by Christians themselves. I’m not perplexed by this, but I am bothered by it. I know that some people use “Happy Holidays” when wishing Christmas greetings to people they are not familiar with. Perhaps they are Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Atheist, Agnostic, or whatever. Most of us have a desire not to offend when wishing someone a greeting or happiness. What a lot of Christians have done, though is take this so far as to mean you are taking Christ out of Christmas. The word “Holiday” is derived from “Holy Day”, and Christmas is absolutely a holy day, so to say, happy holiday is not a secular greeting, even if you mean for it to be.

You see, the idea of stealing Christmas is impossible. The Grinch tried to do it. He thought that by stealing the presents and the trees he could make Christmas disappear, but in the morning, when all the Whos awoke, sure they were disappointed, but they still gathered, they still sang, for Christmas was in their hearts. The Grinches of this world can take down the crosses, can erect a pentagram, can ban nativity scenes from being erected in public parks, but on December 25th the sun will rise on Christmas, just like it did in Whoville, for wherever Christ is, there is Christmas.

So my friends, I wish you all Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays. May Santa be good to you and Christ be your Light.

While a great deal of the United States is experiencing icebox temperatures, snow, and ice, Florida can’t make up its mind how it feels about December. A cold front passed through and dropped the temperature into the 50’s, but a few scant days later and we’re looking at the high 80’s. Warm for even the sunshine state, so if you need hot chocolate, a roaring fire, and falling snow to make it feel like Christmas you need to be somewhere else but here.

I’ve heard it said, “It doesn’t feel like Christmas!” What does Christmas feel like? I’ve spent Christmas in Indiana, Arizona, Wyoming, California, Colorado, and Florida. The view outside the window in each of those places during the month of December are vastly different from one another, but in each one I have “felt” Christmas. Half of the world celebrates Christmas in summer! Now that’s weird! Whether colored lights adorn pine trees, palm trees, or cactus; whether you have to bundle up with hats and mittens, a light sweater, or a t-shirt will do, Christmas is everywhere, because Christmas isn’t what you feel outside. It’s what you feel inside. 

Christmas lights, colored or simply white, whatever they adorn, make me feel happy. I’ve never known anyone who can resist singing along with Christmas songs, and if they can, I don’t care to know them. I drink peppermint mocha even if I’m not cold, because peppermint mocha just tastes like Christmas.

December can be a hard time of year for a lot of people. Finances, grief, and distance from family can be heavy burdens that are suddenly heavier as we near Christmas. I remember the year my son was living in Maui. I refused to listen to “I’ll Be Home For Christmas.” Not only was he not home, he was alone! Not every Christmas is perfect, not every Christmas is happy, but in every Christmas there is magic!

Close your eyes and listen to the music. Open your eyes and see the lights. Reach out to your neighbors, your friends, your family, a stranger…offer a smile, a handshake, a hug. Suddenly it feels like Christmas!

There seems to be two camps when it comes to the annual Christmas letter. One camp is decorated with festive lights and Christmas music can be heard playing in the streets. The annual Christmas letter is welcomed with anticipation and joy in their hearts. The other camp is dark, cold, and only dim fires can be seen burning, barely bright enough to ebb the creeping grip of winter. Audible groans can be heard when a brightly colored card, covered in glitter, is opened and the dreaded Christmas letter falls out!

For most of the year our mailboxes are full of flyers and junk that go directly to the trash, sometimes before even making it inside our homes. With everyone going paperless, there aren’t even bills in there anymore. Christmastime is the last hope that when you check the mailbox there might be something good in there. We peer in, like Charlie Brown, hoping to find a Christmas card, something personal, a note from anyone that says, “I’m thinking of you”.

I love the “Christmas Letter”, and yes, I write one, because I love to get them. Yes, some of them are boring, perhaps even mine. Some detail every little event that happened during the year, but what it really says to me is that someone took the time to sit down, write a letter, even if it’s a type of form letter, had it copied, signed a card, placed the letter inside the card, and addressed it to me. “Me”, the one walking outside to look inside my mailbox, hoping there’s a card there for me to open. A card holding a letter, that I can sit down with a cup of coffee, and read about the things my friend found important in their life this year.

Facebook delivers the final death-blow to the Christmas letter. We share our lives 365 days a year on social media, sometimes in nauseating detail. Why do it again in a Christmas card? Why send a Christmas card at all? You can just deliver one “Merry Christmas” to your entire “Friends” list with a few swift keystrokes, and then move on. No cards to buy. No stamps to buy. No writer’s cramp from addressing envelopes. No time to waste writing a letter, or simply signing your name. Move on! “I’m just too busy!” That’s my favorite! Have you heard it? Have you used it? News Flash!!! We’re all busy!!!!

Did you see that four letter word I wrote earlier? “Time”. That’s what the Christmas letter is all about, time. So, I gladly read about Aunt Sally’s trip to New York, or the beets that were harvested from the garden, and how dreadfully hot this past summer was, because you took the “time” to tell “me”.

It’s not the stories. It’s what the words really say. They say, “I care enough about you, my friend, to give you my time”. Merry Christmas.

 

This morning we awoke to 49 degrees! Brrrr! We waited all summer, suffering through stifling heat and sultry humidity for the somewhat drier and cooler temperatures of fall and winter, and when it is finally upon us, what do we do? We reach for sweatpants, a sweater, and slippers! To be fair, we do throw open the doors for the novelty of it all, pulling the blanket up a little higher and tighter. It’s a refreshing feeling, but oh my do we live in a narrow band of comfortable!

The temperature in our home dropped to 68 this morning without the help of air conditioning! Being from Colorado we refuse to turn on the heat, but having spent the last two years in Florida I must say the thought of a little heat is tempting. That’s insane!!! I know, but it’s true what they say about your blood thinning, or at least it makes sense out of why my toes are cold and I’m searching the bottom of my drawers and the back of my closet for something warm to put on! The fact that I have to search tells you how often I need to wear it. Kim, on his way to work this morning, saw a woman walking her dog, wearing ear muffs and big fuzzy gloves. Floridians can lean a bit toward the dramatic when the mercury takes a dip, but I’m thinking, “Not an entirely inappropriate wardrobe choice. Now I know I have slippers in here somewhere!”

I jump in the shower and turn the temperature controls to hot. It’s the first time in a very long time that I’ve had a “hot” shower, and I must say I rather enjoyed it. I stood there for a very long time. Long enough to feel guilty that is, because though Florida is covered in water, little of it is fresh. Besides, it won’t be long before we are once again opening the doors to the hot, wet towel around your neck feel of our natural sauna, and I’ll be wondering, “Why did I waste a rare cold day in slippers?!”

 

 

I spent the weekend visiting my son and his family. He needed a lift Monday morning, to the airport in Orlando, to begin his work week. I volunteered to take him. I was going to head home anyway, and though out of my way, I was happy for the extra visit time, along with a road buddy for part of my journey.

I travel all over Florida without much trouble, but I don’t spend much time in Orlando and I’m uneasy finding my way home from there. I often joke that the Florida peninsula is narrow. All I have to do, should I get lost, is drive into the setting sun. When I run into water, turn south. But I didn’t want to be lost, so to help me find my way home I enlisted the help of GPS. This is a technological tool I’m unfamiliar with and have a hard time putting faith in. I prefer a map. You know the kind, made of paper, impossible to fold back up the way you found it. You use to be able to pick one up at any gas station. Now you most likely have seen them in museums. GPS it is!

I practiced at Ben’s house with the app on my phone. I was assured, by the under 35 crowd, I had done everything correctly. I was nervously confident. Can you even be that?

I find that when I’m nervous there isn’t a restroom that I don’t think I desperately need. I passed the first rest stop on I-4, convincing myself it was just nerves. That was my first mistake! Nervous or not, if your body says you need a restroom, you do. Trust it not to lie to you!

I’ve taken this route home once before, but my husband, Kim, was with me. If we got lost, we were lost together. This time I was alone, so the stakes were higher. This pleasant, confident voice told me to exit I-4. “Really? I’m not sure this looks right”, but did as I was told. Things began to look familiar, and it wasn’t long before I knew for sure I was heading in the right direction, on the right road.

Now I was wishing I had stopped at that rest area, because I was in the middle of a whole lot of nothing. Not Texas sized nothing, but still nothing. That nice voice said something about following this road for 23 miles, so I figured I’d find something. Instead, what I found were directions to make another turn and drive for another 30 miles of nothing. I know what you’re thinking. “Florida is the 4th most populated state in the country! How could there be nothing?” Well, have you ever flown over Florida at night? There are lights outlining the coasts and in the middle of the state….nothing! That’s where I was! One small town after another, lucky to have a gas station that looked like it needed updating 30 years ago. Finally, a McDonald’s! An oasis in the middle of a desert! Lest I give you the wrong impression, this middle part of the state is actually quite beautiful with orange groves, sod farms, palm tree plantations, and cattle ranches, but public restrooms…barren!

Following a pit stop I was on the road again. One more tricky turn and I would know the rest of my way without GeoSync guidance. When I needed it most, though, the friendly voice on my phone calmly announced, “GPS signal lost”. “Are you kidding!!!??? Now? Seriously!?” I’m yelling at this unruffled, nameless woman, who can’t hear me, and from the tone of her casually repeated announcement, doesn’t really care! I pull over!

I attempt to re-establish my lost signal. At least the google map didn’t disappear, but the road I’m looking for is pretty small and doesn’t show up! I decide to continue driving, confident that the last time I came this way the GPS link was good, and would be again before it was too late. That would be my second mistake. You remember the first. When I got to Arcadia I knew I had gone a bit too far. Pulling over, I consult the map again. I was able to determine, the old-fashioned way, where I was in relationship to where I needed to be, then trace my steps backwards a couple of miles, make a course correction, and regain the appropriate road. As soon as I turned around that cheery voice showed up once again to tell me where to turn, as though she hadn’t bailed on me earlier! “Never mind! I’ll figure it out myself! Oh that’s right! I already did!” I was being snarky…with a phone app!

Ben is a pilot. When I asked him if he ever gets lost up there in the sky he said, “No. We have GPS.” I narrowed my eyes, “I hope you have a map to go with that, otherwise when you least expect it, and most need it, you’ll get a sweet voice that says, ‘GPS signal is lost’!”

 

 

A year ago I wrote a blog called Bonus Years, about celebrating my father-in-law’s 90th birthday, and how blessed we are to share the years that go beyond the norm. Bonus years.

My father-in-law, Lou, looked 15 years younger than his age and acted that much younger as well. He was very active and you would never know by looking at him just how old he was. He was a young 90, until suddenly he wasn’t. And just like that, he was gone.

Lou was of old Italian stock. Lost his dad when he was only nine. His mom, an Italian immigrant, spoke little English, and was left alone with three kids. Lou was the oldest. From the stories I’ve heard, he helped his mom as best he could, but he was just a kid, and a boy with a lot of energy. Barely a man he joined the Air Force (Army Air Corp) in WWII and became a tail gunner with the renowned Flying Tigers. Proud he was of that service, and we are too. Following that he worked on the railroad and told stories of firing coal, spewing black soot and ash when coming across fresh laundry hanging on any clothesline that dared to be near the tracks. He laughed, thought it was funny, all the while grinning like a mischievious teenager. Surely many women did not find him amusing.  He was no choir boy. Later he became a professor at Arizona State University, where he taught industrial technology. Love him or hate him, if you were in his class, you learned. He became a deacon in the Catholic Church. We watched him build a mission church in an area of Phoenix where residents found it difficult to find God anywhere. He made sure they had a place where they could, and enlisted their help, so there was neighborhood pride and ownership in what they had accomplished.

To us, his family, he was a source of support, encouragement, and a little too opinionated! We all enjoyed the first two of these. Not so much that third one. He raised three sons, endured three daughter-in-laws, spoiled and teased seven grandchildren, and delighted in four great-grandchildren. He was proud of each one of us. Admired our individual gifts and talents, encouraged us to be the best that we could be, and offered his opinion when it wasn’t asked for, on just about every subject. He excelled at love and was married to my mother-in-law for 66 years. He was Italian! He was the Patriarch of a 21st century family. Not an easy task, but he’d had lots of practice. You see, he’d been the patriarch since he was nine. It was not his duty. It was his destiny.

When I think about the war stories he told and how many times I heard, “Did I tell you about the time…?” He had in fact, several times, but each time I would listen, maybe not so patiently. Now, I would give anything to hear those stories, just one more time. On Saturday Lou would have been 91. He had been with us for so long that we thought we would have him forever. Our patriarch has gone to the Kingdom, but we will carry on, because he taught us that together we are strong. Together we are family.

Arrivederci Lou, Dad , Nonno. See ya on the other side.

 

 

 

We spent this last weekend at one of my favorite places, the Kennedy Space Center. It’s been several years since my last visit, which was well before they retired all the space shuttle orbiters. After spending five years chasing a shuttle launch I finally caught the final launch of all, Atlantis, July 8, 2011. Atlantis is now at home at Kennedy and I was anxious to see her once again.

I had heard from my son, Ben, that the exhibit was excellent and quite moving, but even with that intro I wasn’t quite prepared for the emotional impact it had on me. I’m not sure why we get choked up about the things we do. They are different for everyone, and why something moves us and not another I don’t really know. Sometimes it’s linked to a memory from childhood, or a connection with a parent, perhaps a desire that has always burned within us to be a part of that something. It’s a mystery, but for me manned space exploration has carried me with it, even though my feet have never left the ground.

I am in awe of the men and women who are able to set aside personal fear, or perhaps driven by it, and not only voluntarily strap themselves to a rocket that hurls them toward the stars at 18,000 mph, but compete for the privilege to do so! The shuttle missions may be over, but it’s not the end. It is just the beginning. Orion is being born and it won’t be long till we are on our way again. I will be there. I will always be there.

My daughter-in-law, Becky, was anxious to see my reaction as we entered the building where Atlantis waited. If emotion is what she wanted, she would not be disappointed. The music sparked a catch in my throat, the blast off mural on the wall triggered tears, and we weren’t even to doors of the exhibit yet.

For those of you who have not yet seen it, but plan to, I will not be the one to spoil your experience with details here. Let it be enough for me to say that at every pause, my anticipation built, and along with it my excitement. I could feel it in my blood. It was as if electricity coursed through my veins! And then…there it was!

Atlantis! An old friend had come home! No…Becky was not disappointed. I cried!

 

 

 

We’ve had cats as members of our family for roughly 19 years, and yet it wasn’t until last year that I learned they shed their claws. How could I not know that? I discovered it one morning after my daughter’s dog and our cat decided to engage in a clash of the Titans. Cleo (bulldog) ended up with a scratch on her nose, while Patches (Manx cat) lost a claw on the foot of the bed. I figured Patches was really hurt, but there was no blood, no limping, no nothing. She’s a cat. You don’t go poking around. She pokes back. She didn’t seem any worse for the excitement, and rather disinterested in my attention.

Over the next few days I began to notice another claw on the floor and then another. What was going on? So, I looked it up. Who knew cats shed their claws? All news to me! Our cats had always had indoor/outdoor privileges. It wasn’t until we moved to an apartment in Florida that Patches became a bona fide “house cat”. I think in the past her and Sophie had either shed their claws while outside, or because our homes were in the country I didn’t notice every little thing on the floor.

I became fascinated with this phenomenon. Patches would only let me see her claws when she was in a bad mood, and at those times I was only interested in getting outside of her reach, not making a scientific study of it. But, these sheds I could examine up close without any clear and present danger. I could identify which claw she shed by its size. They are all fascinating, but the big ones are impressive, and it’s these claws that brought me to this conclusion.

Dinosaurs! What happened to them? They turned into cats! That’s right, cat claws look like velociraptor claws! Don’t believe me? Look it up! And doesn’t it make more sense that the dinosaurs evolved into cats rather than birds? Cats stalk their prey, hiding in bushes, silently waiting, making a sneak attack. They are stealthy, lighting fast, and watching. Always watching. I saw the same thing in Jurassic Park! When was the last time you witnessed your parakeet do this? There may be an argument that pterodactyls are now pelicans. Definitely a resemblance,  but the big boys of the dinosaur age are definitely cats…if you believe in evolution between species, which I don’t, but if you did.

 

This morning I looked out my window to a parade! A parade of 45 ibises! When the rain stops they come out of the woodwork, or jungle, or swamp, or wherever they hang out. You always see a group of them around, but 45 exceeds a group. That’s an assembly! They like to eat small crustaceans, a frog or two, and the occasional snake. All the standing water left behind by Hurricane Hermine means the buffet is open, and the ibises are bellying up to the bar.

Ibises are plentiful in Florida and a beautiful bird, so the first time I heard them called Florida pigeons I was taken aback! My experience with pigeons goes back to my days at Arizona State University, and making a well-timed dash for the door of the life science building. The windows of that building were recessed. The perfect roosting place for pigeons! You could always hear them cooing, which meant they were there, and they were always there. I would look up, making sure I saw nothing but heads, no tails, and then bolt for the door, hoping nothing plopped on my head, my back, or my books.

A pigeon is roughly a foot tall and weighs in at 12 ounces. An ibis, on the other hand, is almost 2 feet tall, weighs in at 2-1/2 pounds, and has a wingspan of 3 feet! That means the bombing run it makes at you or your car has a significant impact. They walk tirelessly on the ground in search of food that they dig up with that long beak, but they roost in the trees. This is a beautiful sight, but could be the reason there are so many car washes in Florida.

Watching my ibis parade made me smile. The reward for suffering through a week of rain.