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.