familiarity...

Today is the Feast of the Holy Family. I know people who get caught up in the fact that Jesus in the Temple at the age of 12 did not happen in the winter, or near his birthday, and even that his birthday was not in the winter at all. I say big deal; worry more about the point than the timing. The point of Christmas is that Jesus was born. The point of his Temple visit is that he was there, and he was teaching. A child shall lead them. (A quote from Isaiah that some could say is completely out of context. I say many quotes are. At any rate, here he was, a kid -- my own kid is 12 -- sitting around with the rabbis, teaching them. All I can say is, "Wow.")

More than anything today -- partly because of the homily at Mass, and partly because the Holy Family statue in our church helped me through many, many Sundays as a new mother -- I am thankful for the blessing that is my family. Not just the family that lives in my house, but also the family that is related to me by blood, by heart, and by choice. Some of them make me crazier than others, and some are great to act crazy with, but all of them mean more to me than I could ever say. More than I will ever attempt to say. Some would never believe the feelings I have for them; some would be embarrassed. All are in my life for a reason, whether I have learned it yet or not. Some know more about me than others, and some think they know more than they do. All of them help me to continue to learn things about myself, my past, my future, my goals, hopes, dreams. Some I talk to more than others, and some I may never see or hear from again; yet each and every one is indelibly in my heart, tattooed there permanently, whether I (or they) like it or not.

I'm grateful, thankful, and sometimes overwhelmed to have the family I do. Sometimes supportive, sometimes combative; sometimes adjacent, not always adjoining, and at times downright detached.

Always family.

Family.

Thank God.

where the heart is

After a week away in the mountains, breathing crisp, fresh, cold air, we find ourselves refreshed, renewed, and ready for a new year. We're home.

Home.

Where you might find some dirt on the floor, dust on the furniture, clutter here and there; but where you will always find warm hearts, a listening ear, a shoulder to lean on, and a spirit of faith, hope and charity.

Always.

We have our faults, and we have our days, but we know where our priorities are: in the heart. We argue, we fuss, we stumble, but we forgive, we make up, we learn, we move on. We grow, continuously, which isn't always easy or pretty, but it's real, and we work pretty darn hard on it, simply because it's what we do.

The house is drafty, and has a to-do list a mile long, but none of it is major or life-threatening, but it's home. It's the place where we do our best, day to day. Happily. Joyfully. We fully realize that our priorities differ from others'; ours being the people in our lives, not the things. (Crazy, isn't it?)

Home.

perspective

A dear friend of mine said goodbye to her sister today. A sister gone too young. I just read her heartfelt eulogy, posted because so many of us were unable to attend the funeral services due to weather, or, as for me, distance. Last night, as I settled in to sleep, I listened to the wind howling around the mountaintop, and couldn't help remembering the weather at Dad's funeral, and how it kept away many of the people we'd hoped to see. I hoped that would not be the case; that my friend's family could be crammed into the church by the many, many people who certainly wanted to be there. Unfortunately, that was not meant to be. I remember that after Dad's funeral, I had some thoughts about the cosmic and spiritual reasons that would necessitate such a small gathering at a time when I would rather be one of a multitude. I wish I'd written them down, because through all that fog of pain, I only have a vague recollection of the notion.

I'm quite impressed at my friend's ability to not only write, but deliver, a moving and timely story expressing her family's love and loss. I am awed by her.

What is most important in life? The impact we have on one another. Not cobwebs in the corners. Not candy wrappers in the car. What matters is what brings us closer to God, to each other, to real, honest to goodness LOVE. What matters is what should keep family together--warm memories of good times, whether frequent or far between.

love you all

As the day winds down, I find myself thinking of all the people I don't get to see nearly enough. My brothers and sisters, their spouses and children. My aunts and uncles, my cousins and their families. My godparents. My friends who have become, for various reasons, family to me. My large-ish family is a huge blessing, and coupled with a bit of Dad's tradition--the one wherein time and distance are not determinate of how close two people can feel to one another--I am even more blessed. Although I would love to spend the day (any day!) with any of my family members, I can't. I really just can't. I do my best to make memories where I can. But I am only one side of the equation. An equation with so many variables....

Merry Christmas to each of you:
Celeste, Arin, Richard, Patrick, Andrew, Mary, Kevin, Cindy, Anna, Mattie, Liz, Frank, Miss Chris, Stephen, Dan, Mike, Caren, Matt, Josh, Chris, Fran, Chris, Michael, Joe, Pat, Bob, Ken, Erin, Lexi, Dan, Jenn, Kinsey, Connor, Pam, TJ, Julie, Rudy, Andy, Janet, Adam, Colin, Nathan, Madonna, Tish, Chris, Connie, Rickey, Jake, Adam, Sean, Kathleen, Joe, Joe, Maria, Krislyn, Shawna, Danny, Danielle, Lynn, Lynne, Michael, Mark, Barb, Cory, Tia, Linda, Anna, Holly, Lu, Linda, Annette, Vicky, AnneMarie, Amy, Ed, Liam, Jack, Allison, Marilyn, Kelly, Ed, Diane, Catherine (!), Raymond, Evan, Christy......there are so many more! In my ideal world, each special day would have hours and hours for each and every one of you.

But the best thing is that you each know that, and feel much the same way. And each of you understand that the distance between hearts is no match for the time/space continuum.

Yeah, that's what Dad taught me. The time/space continuum is less than important when it comes to love and friendship.

the man in a suit

The magic is real. Every year, getting my heart ready for Christmas, I most look forward to the magic. Christmas morning, no matter the weather, breaks beautifully; wondrous and full of blessings for the love of family. Santa magic is all part of the day, of course, but the most amazing part of all is the miracle of the Baby. And that is why my heart is filled with magic, year after year. No matter what, there is more joy in my heart than I knew possible; more happiness and faith than the day before.

Some say that Santa overtakes the meaning of Christmas, but I think that all depends on what one believes, and what one teaches the children. If gifts are bought just for the sake of buying a gift, wrapped simply for the sake of having them opened, then all meaning is lost; not simply the True Meaning of God's great Gift to his children, but any other meaning, too. Gifts chosen with the spirit of giving, with the recipient truly in mind--interests, needs, lifestyle--convey the meaning; giving without expectation.

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, and I do believe that is related to my introverted nature. Thanksgiving, to me, is about reflection, introspection, contemplation. Christmas, on the other hand, overwhelms me at times. With everyone watching the unwrapping and wanting to see just what was inside the packages and stockings, I start to forget the best parts; I start to feel pushed beyond my furthest limits.

That's why I admire Santa.

Santa comes in quietly, when no one is looking, and leaves just the right things. Santa knows my heart, like Jesus. He gratefully accepts the cookies left for him, and graciously and politely responds to every note. To some he leaves large packages, and to others gifts that appear to be small, but to everyone he leaves a bit of love and joy. A bit of magic. It never gets old. Afterwards, he leaves, again without fanfare, expecting nothing in return for the generosity of his heart. Gifts opened and he is not there to witness, but I know that somewhere, while he relaxes in an easy chair by the fire, snuggling up with a very patient Mrs. Claus (I know how patient she must be, considering all the overtime the Mr. puts in at Christmas and all year long!), and a cup of coffee, he is imagining the smiles, the laughter, the warmth in the hearts of children young and old.

We all help Santa, or should. Santa comes in many forms, but all his Elves are blessed gifts themselves. My cousin makes it her life's mission to help Santa, and has, so far, brought that anonymous Santa joy to at least a million children needing Santa magic in their lives. I'm both humbled and proud to know her, and to be related to one of Santa's elves--a Queen Elf, in fact! In high school, my father and I delivered gifts one Christmas morning to families in Elmira, NY, for the Arctic League; a frigid and otherworldly morning that cemented two things for me: my admiration for my father (who took me to do this simply because I asked, but couldn't drive) and my belief in the spirit--and magic--of Santa.

The Church we belonged to when we were first married had a beautiful and magical Christmas tradition. Santa, singing O Holy Night in the clearest, most dramatic tenor I've ever heard, delivered the Christ Child to the Manger set up under the altar. Not surprisingly, it moved me to tears, especially because it linked very closely all the symbols of Christmas. The Magic of the Christmas Miracle was renewed, refreshed, and "forevered" in my heart and in my mind. The magic of Santa is as real and as strong for me now as it ever was.

Happy Birthday, Jesus. Merry Christmas, Santa. Thank you both for the gifts you bestow without limit.

top of the world

Yesterday, despite high wind warnings, the extended Team Tanguay decided to check out Grandfather Mountain. We bundled up, loaded 3 cars, and drove the 16 miles down one mountain and up another. Grandfather Mountain provides an audio tour for the drive up to the parking lot at the top. We listened to facts about the mountain and the park, while drinking in the wide open vistas--especially wide open because the road had no guardrail. At all. Not even on the switchbacks. By the time we were halfway up, I was near frantic, leaning as far to the center of the vehicle as I could, and telling the boys (and Guy!) to stop laughing at me so I could hear the CD. I was laughing, too, but the tears my son captured on "film" were mostly there from terror. I spent the drive up saying I needed to try to breath, that we were going to die, that Guy was driving too fast, commanding him not to look at the beautiful views, on and on.

Reaching the parking lot, the boys roared with laughter that there was no guardrail on the perimeter, either. They encouraged their father to park directly on the edge, which he, because he loves me dearly, did! The next question from the boys concerned my getting out of the van. They didn't believe me when I told them the problem was being on wheels. Sure enough, everything about my demeanor--and heart rate!--changed dramatically as my shoes touched pavement. Truly, there is no problem with edges when I have my feet on the ground.

The views were worth every minute of sheer terror. The world went on forever in every direction, except up. Above us, the heavens stretched in all remaining directions. The pamphlet we were given at the admission booth mentioned that one never feels as grounded as when they are at the top of the mountain. I must say, I concur. Being at the summit, crossing the Mile High Swinging Bridge, and picking our way along the crags beyond, I felt more rooted to the earth than on an average day nearer to sea level.

Why is that? What is it about the wonders of nature that makes me feel more? Certainly related is the awesome power of the wind, in this particular case. It's an amazing place, and I could have easily stayed for another hour or so without really noticing the cold, for it was cold. The record wind gusts recorded by the anemometer at the top of the bridge were 115mph. Before we headed out, gusts of 110mph were being reported, and sustained winds of 50-55mph. The car thermometer told us the outside temp at the parking lot was approximately 44 degrees--not super cold, but with the wind chill.... I love mountains, and oceans; rivers and lakes, and the woods. I consider them all to be special blessing areas; places where I can be alone and contemplate my place in the world, or where I can be with others, as yesterday, observing the small details that make nature beautiful.

For places like Grandfather Mountain, I am grateful. For the ability to laugh and cry, I am grateful. For the family, both immediate and extended, and the joy we share together, I am grateful. For the changes in my life since last year, I am grateful. For the future, I am grateful.

where to start

Since Thanksgiving, I have been on a whirlwind and wild ride. I started a new job the week of Thanksgiving; my first full-time job since Jonathan was born. The job itself has been an awesome step in the right direction for me, personally, and for us as a family. I've been learning so much, keeping busy at work, and stretching myself meeting people.

At home, things have been hectic, trying to juggle my new schedule, the boys' schedules, meals, Guy's new schedule we were just adapting to, plus getting ready for Christmas. The boys have been troopers: pitching in with laundry and meal planning and prep (and the meals have been Ah-Maze-Ing!) while I've sewn pajamas for the 6 of us. Mutual benefit, and mutual satisfaction.

Now, it's the first day of vacation, and despite sheer exhaustion brought on by a late night of packing followed by an early morning departure and a long drive. We've arrived, lunched, visited, laughed, dinnered, and are getting ready for a nice glass of wine to finish out the evening (it's 7:20, but feels like 11:00 to me!) while we wait for the rest of the party to arrive. Goodness all around.

These are the first words I think of each day lately. My life is contentment and thankfulness right now, and that's based on choices I have made: thoughtful, careful and deliberate choices. Not only am I back to myself, I am back to my life--the good, the bad and the ugly. All of it is what it is, and needs to be taken in stride.

Loving my new job and the people there has quite a bearing on my outlook. While I loved most of the people I worked with previously, and I loved the job with all my being, I did not feel, at the end of the day, like I do now. A work in progress....that's my life, that's me, that's what it's all about.

thinking caps

I have words inside that I cannot express aloud. Some are angry, frustrated; others taste acidic at the moment. Most will not understand them, even if I do express them, and too many will judge based upon them. When the words themselves are not cutting my soul so much, I am confident that I will be able to present them in a way that will bring illumination, clarity, vision. Until then, if you speak to me, and are met with silence, disapproval, or even a slight stare followed by a view of my back, do not think that I am giving up, by any means, or that I will ever stop fighting your small-minded simpleness.

Suffice it to say that if you are going to focus on something other than the pertinent facts, I'm going to lose some respect for you. You don't even know that you are hitting close to home here, and you likely never will. Think about your words, your views, your judgements, and consider: where would I be? The answer will probably surprise you. It did me. And yet, where I am, I am more proud of myself than I have ever been in my life. I have, because I stayed focused on the facts, come out on top.

Think before you judge. Think before you laugh. And when you step outside yourself, you might just notice that someone else has something valid and valuable to share.


*I wrote this a few weeks ago, after hearing a news story that really ticked me off. (the contenet of the story is really not important) Thinking it too harsh or ugly to publish, I dropped it into my Drafts folder. Opening it tonight, I realize that all it is, is true. Take it as you will; but take something from it.

because I can

"Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple."
                                                                        ~Dr. Seuss

Yesterday, the question was presented: "Why bother?" Indeed, the question was far more complicated than it looks, as there was plenty of background to go with it. The important part, to me, though, was the simplicity of the answer--which, of course, uses far more words in answer. The simplest answer would be, "You're right," followed by giving up the action.

I've learned so much, though, that tells me that if the question is "Why bother?" there must be lots to think about.

Why bother?

Well, because if I keep doing the rote, follow the forms, act out of habit, I am still getting something out of it. IF, that is, I allow myself. I myself sat, week after week, out of habit, until that little bit of faith -- that mustard seed, if you will -- found a reason to start working its way through my heart.

Yoga is a practice. In order to find the benefits of yoga, which include, but are not limited to, flexibility, mental and physical balance, and strength, one must keep at it. Keep pushing limits, keep breathing, keep learning. I never thought of all faith as involving similar practice. Like the muscle memory we need to do well in athletic contests or games, and that only comes with continuous drills and repetition, so is faith. In training at my new job, I am practicing the elements I have already learned, and I have already begun to do some of them without needing to refer to notes or call over a co-worker.

Why bother?

Because it might make a difference to me, in me.

Because it has made a difference in me. It just took a while.

Yet I totally understand that without the possibility there to begin with, the rote easily can become not only dull and boring, but also mind-numbing and unfulfilling: useless. That was the point of the question, and I know that. Ever the debater, though, I must find some other angle; especially in applying lessons to my own life and experience. It's my nature; what I was made to be. It makes people (including me) crazy sometimes, I know. But it's also how I learn, how I grow.

Why bother?

Because in the end, provided the heart and mind are open, the reward is great.

hey, jude....thanks

When you have a new job, there is so much to learn. Not only the elements of the job itself, but also the culture of the organization, the operations and moods of the work environment....all the things I learned about in my classes, not so long ago. I expected that. I expected the overload of information about what it is I need to do; the excitement of using skills I already have, as well as picking up new ones--playing up my strengths and stretching my "mental muscles." I was prepared for good days and bad days. Days when I remember something I've been trained to do, and days when I just don't.

What I was not prepared for was learning so much about myself. Rather, I should say, remembering so much about myself; not all of which has anything at all to do with my work. I guess I shouldn't be surprised at remembering what I did and how I felt a lifetime ago....that's how long it's been since I had a full-time job, and some of the memories are related to putting in hours. They come in flashes, and most of them as remembered feelings, not as the third-person 'movie memories' I often have when remembering events.

Tonight, for instance, I went to Mass with Mom and Joseph. A memory hit me, but not of a time or event, but a remembered feeling (not emotion, this time). Not long after we were married, I was working only part-time. I don't remember why, but I was looking and looking for a full-time job, but nothing was panning out. It was nearing springtime, and Fr. Lynch suggested to everyone one Sunday that daily Mass might be a good and useful Lenten sacrifice. What the heck, I thought, it'll get me out of the apartment at the very least. I started going just to go. Then I started to go a few minutes early so as not to interrupt the Rosary. Then I started taking my Rosary with me. Before long, I was staying after for coffee in the rectory with Fr. Lynch and some of the other 'regulars.' When I got a full time job, I was sad about losing my new routine, despite needing the job, and enjoying it. And I thanked God every day for both the opportunity to have experienced Lent on another level, and for the job, too.

The feelings all came back tonight as I shook hands with those around me: faces, smiles and handshakes I have come to know, even if I don't know or remember all the names. The warmth that comes with recognition. But what came back most intensely was the feeling of gratefulness for the gifts that got me this job. Strength to be myself. Courage to try something new. Humility to ask for help when I am confused or feel lost. Thankfulness that I am able to work, that the work is meaningful, and that those I work with are good people. I occasionally find myself overwhelmed with joy at where my life is right now, and I celebrate even the temporary nature of 'right now.'

Over the summer, I read an autobiography by Jamie Farr (Just Farr Fun) wherein he points again and again to St. Jude as the key to his success. He prayed to St. Jude every day, and when his career took off with M*A*S*H, he promised to pass on the prayer as one way to thank St. Jude. Jamie was very convincing. St. Jude is the patron saint of lost causes. What the heck, I again thought, my life feels like a lost cause. I started to say the prayer each day, reading it from the back of Jamie Farr's book.

I've been thanking St. Jude for a few months now, along with thanking God for being beside me. That's the feeling that was so similar tonight: the feeling that God is near me, beside me, in those around me. I know that what God does will not necessarily make sense to me. I also know that I can ask questions. I can argue my case. I can even get mad at God or ignore him.

He will still be there.

I needed Him, and he was there, even though it had, for all intents and purposes, been a really long time since I'd been there. I still have questions. Tons and tons of questions, and contradictions, and arguments.....but I believe that it's okay. Why? Because my mind is open to the answers, and I'm designed to seek, to learn, to inquire. I've asked for the strength to be myself, and with it, I've become me.

taken for granted

My niece, Danielle, is a personal trainer (a mighty good one, at that!) and writes a blog of her own (Fit It In Fitness). On Saturday morning, my Facebook status was this: "Best part about going to my kids' sporting events: contagious enthusiasm!" Danielle commented that it sounded like a great idea for a blog post -- for her, of course -- and I agreed. Tonight, she asked for my opinion on contagious enthusiasm. What follows is my response to her.....


OK. Contagious enthusiasm. For the most part, I think that as long as it is channelled, directed and controlled, it is a great thing--not only for motivation, but for appreciation, as well. The tricky thing is that it can tip over into a mob mentality (how many times can you think of soccer championships in Europe turning into crushing mobs??)

Saturday morning was our first meet with the new swim team; the first home meet of the season. This team is uber-organized when it comes to meets, I found out. They had people there to train every volunteer, and by train, I do not mean "this is a stopwatch. Now go to it." The team has also grown quite a bit with Uncle Guy there, and following the Olympics, so it would have been easy for the kids' excitement to tend toward unruly. Before warm-ups, waiting at the end of the pool, I could literally feel the love of the sport radiating from the kids. I'd never felt it so strongly before [now, there are a whole bunch of nuances to that statement. Suffice it to say, this was awe-inspiring in me]. That same kind of feeling is what carried me through my first 5k. And I'd say pretty related to the "umph" that participating in a group training/class gives.

For the first time in a very long time on Saturday, seeing the kids excited, and the coaches excited, I couldn't wait for the meet to START. All because I caught their enthusiasm. I hate to admit that for too many years, that moment had given me a very different feeling: Uncle Guy would walk onto the deck, the pool all ready for the first splashes of feet first entry, and say that was his favorite sight, and all I could think was, "When will this be over??"

Maybe because I had a different function this time, too. But I really, really think it's more related to the happy anticipation of the boys, and being with this team.