Little did I know when I started this blog that the title would expand, requiring me to ask this question of so many new situations in my life....

Thursday, December 28, 2006

Home again, home again, doing a jig......



They're home -- my kids. Back in the good ol U.S.ofA., and they were ready to get back. I was worried for a few days because they totally fell in love with London. But in the end it was the food that did them in. It seems that 10 days is way too long to do without the familiar taste of SpaghettiOs. Not that they couldn't find SpaghettiOs in the UK -- they could. (Why?) But....the tomato sauce was different. !!

While in London/Canary Wharf, they had a varied diet: Papa John's, Domino's, McDonald's, Burger King (which was their favorite), and they found a Chili's -- but didn't have time to try it out. They even had Krispy Kreme. When J heard of their food choices, he glared at moi as if it were somehow my fault!?

Now, in all fairness to them, they did dine at a few unfamiliar restaurants and pubs -- son #3 told me of a salad he ordered. He doesn't like lettuce with stems. Sigh! Maybe it is partly my fault.

They had their favorite market a couple of minutes from their apartment. Apparently, they stopped in every day for something or other -- even if it was just for coffee (or Frosted Flakes). They dissed my suggestion of having Christmas dinner at an Indian restaurant in favor of ordering in from their market -- and then complained that the Southern fried chicken didn't taste Southern. And that the bar-b-qued chicken tasted different. Nothing tasted the same, they said. Maybe, they wondered, it was because it is a Muslim market?

Yes, in the end it was the food that did them in. That -- and their getting tired of not being understood. ;) Seems some Brits thought they were Aussies. (snicker)

When the gal from Texas informed her dad of their trip, he had asked if they would have a language barrier......and the kids laughed. Little did they know.

As they tell me about some of their (mis)adventures (like the car they ordered to pick them up after Mary Poppins being surrounded by drunk Brits, who proceeded to pound upon it because they thought the driver had tried to run them over a block or so away), I find myself laughing until tears ran down my cheeks. Not just because it's so funny, but also because they are home safe and sound.

I am so blessed that my worries are for the safety of my children who are privileged enough to spend a few days in Europe. There are mothers worrying about so much more. Like children in Iraq, Afghanistan.... Somehow it doesn't seem fair.

Tuesday, December 26, 2006

The Gift of Hospitality



Some have it. Some don't. I don't.

My daughter does. She always makes me so comfortable when I stay with her.

Could that be why she always brings a group of people when she comes home? Maybe it's not to aggravate me? Maybe it's because she's a hospitable person -- whether at her home or mine? Maybe she thinks I enjoy entertaining people as much as she does? ....Doesn't she know anything about me!

Because I lack the gift of hospitality, I always celebrate the 26th of December in my own private way. Today, I am wearing my white t-shirt with Ho-Ho-Ho written out in sparklies.

As I go about my errands around the city, people notice my shirt and several smile and make comments to the effect......"Oh, you're like me. I hate for the season to end, too."

I smile sweetly in return. Why burst their bubble?

Ho! Ho! Ho! It's frickin' over.

Ewwww! That doesn't sound nice. But....an unhospitable person can only be pushed so far for so long, and then they need a good long rest.

Friday, December 22, 2006

Merry Christmas To All!



Eat! Drink! Be merry! ......and, be safe.

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

It just goes to show you......



So, half of my kids are in London for the holiday. Four days into the trip and they are loving it. They are amazed at how polite and helpful everyone's been. They saw Wicked with Idina Menzel as Elphaba -- the purpose of the trip -- and loved it. They've seen a lot and have lots left to see. It may, just may, snow around Christmas. ....Could you even begin to imagine how five young people from the deep south would freak out to experience a white Christmas -- in London?!

Suffice it to say, they are having the time of their lives. They took pains to prepare for this trip. They talked with several friends and acquaintances who have spent time in England and they read (as a group) a book by Kate Fox titled "Watching the English" which had been recommended by my son's anthropology professor. They so wanted to have some idea of how to behave and not come off as ugly Americans.

But......as they say about "the best laid plans...." They arrived at their Canary Wharf apartment last Saturday night -- late. It was cold (inside and out). The water was icy for showers. So......early the next afternoon (with the water still cold and no heat) they called the contact number -- which happened to be the same lady who had picked them up at Paddington Station the night before -- to ask if things should be warmed up by then.

She said, of course it should and tried to walk them through lighting the hot water (which somehow controlled the heat). When that didn't work, she said she'd stop by to check on things, and suggested they call the owner -- which they did. The owner was super nice, saying she had an engineer on call 24/7, so if Daisey (don't you just love the name??) didn't get things working when she stopped by, to just give a call back and she'd have someone out there pronto.

I say all that to say this...... As I was thinking about it (of course they had called to inform me of the problem), I started thinking -- maybe that's normal for England. Maybe they aren't used to being as warm as we in the US are, and maybe they take colder showers. Maybe my kids need to get that stiff British upper lip or backbone, or -- whatever it is.

I didn't mention these thoughts to the kids, but......when they called back to say things were working fine, they mentioned they had been thinking the same thing. My daughter, A , said they had wondered if they should have called the second time. They wondered if they were being wusses aka Pampered Americans.

So, now we all know that the Brits value heat and hot showers as much as we in the US do. Duh!

And....we feel kind of meek after wondering if another country enjoyed creature comforts as much as we. Ummm.... Isn't Britan where most of the creature comforts started?

And therein lies the point of this post. It just goes to show you, I guess. No matter how hard you try, you're likely to make mistakes.

We've got lots to discuss on their return. I think I'll chill a bottle or two of wine. ......I hear that's the British way to discuss things.

You live, you learn -- hopefully with some grace.

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

Oh! ...... Christmas Tree!



Don't know why -- but, I can't seem to finish decorating my Christmas tree this year. Actually, it's to the point where all it really needs is the star topper, but it's been a long go of it. This will go down as the year of the minimalist tree -- which is fine with me cause I like things simple.

This year, from the moment we started the tree search, till now, I keep remembering a Christmas a few years past. One we refer to as -- the year of the little tree we left behind.

It was the year our oldest son became a member of the Army's 82nd Airborne Division. We had been to his graduation in Fort Bragg, North Carolina -- along with our youngest son who was about five years old at the time. To say that our youngest son was enamored with the military would be an understatement.

That child begged for camo outfits, and would use whatever he could find (Magic Markers, water colors, my eye-shadows & lipsticks) to paint his face. Only when his older brother told him the military would make him eat his vegetables did his obsession wane. ....We all have our limits, I guess.

I contribute that military fixation to be the cause of what happened that Christmas -- which happened to be the year we decided to take the kids to a Christmas tree farm to choose and cut our very own tree. With our oldest away in the military, and our middle two....teens who were quite blase with the whole family Christmas-tree-picking-thing, it fell to our youngest to be the Official Family Christmas Tree Picker-Outer.

A job he had no trouble performing. Within five minutes of arriving at the tree farm, he had picked out the family tree. A tree with a huge hole in the back. A hole (as he told us) big enough for him to hide in while on missions.

He was adamant with his choice. Our two middle kids snickered and gave us that look that said "serves you right". I said "what the hell. why not." -- by then I'd learned a thing or two about choosing your battles. But......husband/father said, "are you out of your mind? you think I'm paying $$$ for this!"

Our youngest can be quite stubborn, and he didn't give up easily. While we wandered around the tree lot, he remained sitting in the hole in that tree. I, meanwhile, lowered myself to lying trickery. I told him the tree would fill out and we could buy it next year. ....He didn't believe it.

In the end, we/dad chose another tree and we carried it (along with a screaming child) to the car.

That was the year our tree was decorated -- underneath -- with a full battalion of plastic army men, metal tanks, airplanes......

Monday, December 18, 2006

Some things just aren't funny......



Like this morning when the radio was playing, "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas" -- while snickering in the background.

Here's why:

Baton Rouge, LA
64°F (18°C)

Fog conditions
Humidity: 93%
Barometer: 30.29" (Steady)



....It's not the heat, kids. It's the frickin' humidity!

Saturday, December 16, 2006

Mom......how do you use a bidet?



My children go to London and they call home to ask this question.

And......even more surprising -- they think I'd know?

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

The boy who sang Christmas carols in May......



That's the only thing I remember about him now.

It was a warm night in May, with the sky so full of stars and the moon so bright that gazing at the sky through a telescope took your breath away. School had just ended -- our sophomore year of high school -- and there was a gaggle of us girls at a spend-the-night party.

It was a night of innocence. No beer, no drugs, just a time to relish the fact that school was over for a few weeks. Sure there was a war going on and it was heating up. Even in our protected cocoon, our state of blissful ignorance, we were aware that things were changing.

But that night, Vietnam was far from our minds. That night was for nothing but silliness, utter and complete silliness. That night was for watching horror movies by candle light, dancing under those sparkling stars, ordering pizzas with the works -- knowing they would be delivered by the soon-to-be steady boyfriend of one of us, eating chocolate -- far to much soft, melting chocolate, laughing till we couldn't breathe, and making plans for the rest of our lives.

And on that warm, starry night in May, for some reason, he gathered together a group of guys, and they came caroling.

I don't remember which of us girls heard them first. I don't remember exactly what we were doing, but I imagine looks of bewilderment must have spread across our faces as we, one by one, started hearing strands of "Jingle Bells" being sung outside.

Bewilderment that turned to smiles as we recognized that we were hearing Christmas carols that warm, starry May night. Smiles that widened to delicious laughter as we looked out the upstairs window and realized that the caroling was for us!

I felt as I imagine Juliet might have felt looking down at her Romeo, except -- we were in our shorty pajamas, and our Romeos below were buddies -- complete with guitars and tattered Santa hats and beards......far from being lovers.

I've wondered through the years if he could have had any inkling that that kooky Christmas celebration of his on that warm, starry May night would be his last. By summer he had enlisted, and by Christmas he was dead.

All my children know of the boy who sang Christmas carols in May. I hope it helps keep his memory alive.

Next week, another boy -- this time a boy my daughter went to high school with -- will be buried. Killed in another war. I hope he had a chance to do something so wonderfully absurd as singing Christmas carols in May.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Wouldn't you just know it......



Two days to go before two of my children (along with three friends) are off to New York and then London. And....three of the five have horrid colds. Shit! Shit! Shit!

Nothing I can do about it. They are going to the doctor (the two who are working), and the infirmary (the one who is in school). That makes three. Does that mean the other two are immune, or....will they wait and get sick on the other side of the pond?

Merde!

Actually, they are just experiencing the annoying after-effects of the colds -- sniffles and coughs. But they so don't want to be sniffling and sneezing and coughing when around so many people on planes and in show audiences.

Deep breath. They're gonna be just fine. They're gonna have a wonderful time. They're gonna be safe -- no terrorist crap or radiation or.... Ommmmmmmm!

I'm not going to worry that J has not packed a thing. He has his last final tomorrow so he'll throw some things in a suitcase tomorrow night -- before they leave the next morning. That's what he tells me.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!

Monday, December 11, 2006

Yikes!



Where is the time going? Here I sat, feeling quite proud of myself, thinking that I pretty much had this Christmas stuff under control. Then....I remembered my brother and his family. Yes, indeedy, the brother I have forgotten to buy a Christmas present for. How did that happen?

So....tonight I hastily point and click away and find the site where I usually order their gift. Now I'm thinking -- should I order the same thing this year as last year (and....maybe the year before that)?

Would they like something different this year?

If so -- what?

Screw it!

I'll think about that tomorrow....

Saturday, December 09, 2006

British ale......



So......two of my children are going to London (stopping in NYC going and coming) for Christmas. Yes, they are going to two of the most expensive cities in the world at one of the busiest times of the year. They dream big!

They have rented an apartment just outside of London -- Canary Wharf -- so it won't be quite as expensive as if they were staying in the city itself, I guess. They have tickets to several shows and plan to hit some museums and pubs, and maybe take a couple of day trips. There will be five of them and I know they are going to have a wonderful time.

My son's history professor this semester, has lived and taught in England for a couple of years. When my son mentioned his London Christmas trip his professor told him to stop by his office and he would give him some pointers. They got together this week.

Today, I talked to my son and asked him what his professor had told him. My son said his professor stressed how much stronger British ale was than what we have in the USA. He told him he'd seen some Americans get really messed up.

Okay, I said. And....did he say anything else?

Oh, yeah, says my son. He said the Brits call our beer chemical warfare.

Now, I really hope his professor had a tad more info to impart....

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Breaking and Entering



I was reading a blog post from a site that is wonderfully helpful to me. (Google "Dr Deb" and you'll see what I mean.) Dr Deb was a crime victim this week. She is safe -- which is the main concern. Her words gave me much food for thought. I have made some changes in my life.

Since the storm, life in my city has changed. In the last few months, the changes have reached my neighborhood. Crimes such as armed robberies are being reported too close to where I live. Growing up in a larger city, I learned to be careful, but since moving to Baton Rouge I've become lax. Lately, I've been impressed to be more careful. I started doing just that today.

The city my daughter and one of my sons live in while in school -- along with two roommates -- has changed also. In fact, all the gulf states have changed since the storm. The neighborhood my daughter, son, and their roommates were living in at the time of the storm changed so much, so quickly, they had to move. They were blessed to be able to pool their resources and buy a house in one of the better areas of the city they live in -- a brand spanking new house.

My daughter's (A's) graduate work is in forensics, and criminal justice. Since she began studying these areas, she has become paranoid very careful. She insisted they have an alarm system installed before they moved in, and they have good locks and dead bolts on all the doors and windows. They have two dogs outside who are very good watch dogs. I felt good about their safety.

Imagine my surprise (and horror) a few weeks ago when my son called to tell me someone had broken into their house. Their alarm went off one bright, sunny morning while they were upstairs, and when they went to check on it, they heard the blinds on a bedroom door rattling. When they looked they saw a foot stepping inside the door. They shouted to call the police and the guy took off across the backyard. The kids ran to the front door and saw him running so they had an idea of what he looked like -- his hair style stood out.

The police came quickly and took it very seriously. Whoever broke in must have had a key. When the house was being built, the builder had told the kids that whenever they wanted to come check on something they could always use the key he left in the garage for the contractors' use. They never thought about it, but the police figured there must have been at least 12 keys unaccounted for. The police told them to change their locks that night, took the description, and started searching. If they found anyone fitting the description, the police said they would search them for a key and come see if it fit.

The police didn't find anyone that day. About three weeks later, the same guy -- on another bright, sunny day, around lunch, tried to just run into the front door. I guess he though he would knock it down and come right on in. (!!)

The police, once again, came immediately, and this time they loaded the kids into their squad car and asked if they would try and identify someone. The police drove up to a house where this guy was sitting on the porch along with some friends. The kids told the police that he was the one.

It ended up that the this guy already had a court date set for the next week. He was being tried for stealing a motorcycle from a house four doors up from the kids.

The police took the kids home, and came back later that day to tell A they had talked to the guy and let him know they were on to him. Not that it made much difference. He's a juvenile and thinks he has it all figured out. He lives with his grandmother and she has told the police that she would help them in any way she could because she can't control him.

The kids haven't been able to find out what happened during the trial, but they've talked to neighbors and everyone is looking out for everyone else.

I don't think things happen by accident. I think there is a purpose to everything -- if we just look hard enough. I'm grateful to Dr Deb for sharing her story. That was what it took to make me get my rear in gear and change some things.

Today, instead of carrying my usual suitcase of a purse containg my life, I had my grab and go small bag ready when I walked out the door. I even locked the dead bolt. I felt much better (and safer) as I was gadding about town today.

May I suggest that you think about what's going on in your life. If there are messages/warnings all around you, attempting to capture your attention -- listen.

Monday, December 04, 2006

The Earrings



Today's the day I chose to put the earrings on. The little golden bells with the tiny diamond chip on the end of the clapper. The ones my mom gave me years before she died.

Yesterday was the day of remembrance for her that I set aside each season. Yesterday I was sad. Yesterday I allowed myself to feel how much I miss her -- all day long. I didn't scold myself or try to hide my feelings. I simply felt what I felt.

Yesterday had to happen so today -- and all the days that will follow today during this holiday season -- could happen. Yesterday had to happen so I can remember to smile, love, laugh, and celebrate with those I love for the rest of this holiday season.

Yesterday is over.

Today I put the earrings on. The little golden bells with the tiny diamond chip on the end of the clapper. The ones my mom gave me years before she died.

Today I will smile as I decorate, plan the holiday menu, and maybe even bake the first of the holiday treats for my family.

Today, and each day that follows today during this holiday season, my mom's memory will be close. Today, or any day during this holiday season, if I sense sadness attempting to sneak its way in, I'll reach and caress the earrings. The little golden bells with the tiny diamond chip on the end of the clapper, and everything will be all right.

Today, and each day that follows today this holiday season, I will smile, laugh, love and celebrate. That's what my mom would want me to do.

Saturday, December 02, 2006

My Son, My Heart, My Firstborn......



Warning! Around this time each year I'm compelled to take a span of time for myself to wonder, rage, cry, and just plain ask "Why?". Some might call what follows a maudlin post, one you may want to skip right on by, but it's one that begs writing -- if I'm to wend my way through this holiday season with no more than a shot-of-Jack-a-day to ease my mind.

Here goes.... I live with the uneasy awarness of this confrontation that is always lurking just around the corner, ready to blindside me in broad daylight and cause tears to roll down my cheeks no matter if I'm at home or in public, or it might sneak into my dreams in the wee hours when it can cause me to bolt upright in bed not able to breathe because it hurts so much. I knew, at some point during the days between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I would need to confront this pain, honor it, then take the deep breath needed to push it back down to its resting place where it would toss and turn fitfully and I could remember to smile, laugh, love until it awoke once again and demanded to be tended to.

That's why, when she called and wanted to meet for coffee, I knew what she wanted and what would happen. Add it did....

"How do you do it," she asked. "How do you get up each day and manage to put one foot in front of the other?"

Her loss is still fresh. Her wound still raw. Mine -- I'm learning to live with each and every moment of my life.

I'm not good at answers, but instantaneously I can spew forth an answer to this question -- an answer I've carefully constructed just so I can get out of bed each day and put one foot in front of the other. "I can face each day because my child is still alive -- as is yours," I tell her. "My child is out there (somewhere) and he does call (sometimes) and I know I can still hear his voice (odds are)." I have hope. And where there is hope, there is life. ....I choose to believe this. I must.

We are both mothers of lost children, but quickly, quickly, quickly, quickly I add that our children are at least alive and just maybe, just maybe, just maybe, just maybe our children can be reclaimed one day. You see, we are mothers to children who chose to run away -- or so it seems to us. We have no other explaination for what's happened. We didn't ask them to leave home. We didn't throw them out. We didn't say......do this or get out. We didn't abuse them. We don't know of anyone who did abuse them. We don't fucking know what happened to make them choose to leave.

We loved them from the momemt they were born. We crafted our lives around their needs. We tried to be there for them. We reclaimed them through the years when they left us and then reached out to us later on. We reclaimed them again, and again, and again. And......we would reclaim them again in an instant -- as many times as it takes.

They had loving extended family surrounding them. They went to some of the better schools. They were given lessons paralleling their interests -- we took pains to note their talents and interests. They had friends and parties and vacations. They had visits to social workers, psychologists, psychiatrists when we noticed they couldn't find contentment.

Yet......how could they have had all that and it not make any difference? I would be tempted to think that I am inventing all the above were it not for my three other children. They may not have had as much on offer to them as their older brother, yet they are still here -- missing the one who chose to leave. Not a birthday, holiday, celebration goes by that we don't miss the missing part of us. We thank God that he's still out there somewhere, (at least we pray he's still out there somewhere), and we feel guilty for celebrating without him. And we wonder why we are celebrating and not out there searching for him. We're getting good at not mentioning it on every occassion, but......I wonder if that's a good thing?

To me, what's happened is akin to a suicide in one way -- even though, THANK THE GOOD LORD, this child is still alive. But, how can you feel angry at someone who is hurting so much that they take their own life -- literally or figuratively -- choosing to leave those who love him? Is hurting the correct word? What is the correct word? Are we wrong sitting home learning to create happiness when we know that we could be out there walking the streets....searching to bring him home once again?

No question about it, we made our share of mistakes raising this child -- his dad and I. The only comfort I can find for that is to claim the statement I heard Maya Angelou make on Oprah's show one day. "I did the best I could at the time. When I knew better, I did better." (My paraphrase)

I know it's glaring that I can make all these statements and yet not be able to find any meaning in them. It's like I have all these clues and am just too dumb to put them together. All these signs, yet I can't read even one of them. Glaring -- yet I can't see a thing.

So when my need to see my child, hear his voice, hold him, know that he is all right, know that he is safe -- when this need is almost palpable all I can do is breathe. Prayer, trust, and faith help also, but who knows if that's real or just for my comfort?

So, as we moved from coffee to Orange Blossoms, this friend of mine and I, we started celebrating our children. Oh, it's easy to recall the hurt and pain they have brought us, and many of our family and friends do just that -- maybe because they are sad that we are sad. Maybe because they are sad that they are themselves sad. But this day we chose to remember the joy these precious children have brought to our lives.

After shared tears, laughter, memories, and hugs we walked out into the fading sun and the beginning of a spectacular sunset. The first lights of the season were twinkling in store windows as we walked to our cars, and I noticed that we were both smiling. I guess to anyone passing by it looked as if we were enjoying the early decorations. Who would be able to guess that our smiles were smiles born of hope -- hope that the wonderful children we had just remembered would make their way back to us. And....hope that this might be one of the nights that we would pick up a ringing phone and hear that special voice. It's so much easier to sleep on nights like that.

God bless you, protect you, and keep you close, my son, my heart, my firstborn.

Friday, December 01, 2006

Waiting....waiting....



waiting.... Waiting for ALABAMA to choose its next football coach.

And while we are waiting, there are people who are -- watching flight plans to and from the local airport in Tuscaloosa, listing tail numbers for UA planes so others can help watch flight plans, camping out at the airport, and sharing info such as this: "All flights that are flying under an Instrument Flight Rules (IFR) plan are tracked when they are in controlled airspace. Some flights can be made under Visual Flight Rules (VFR). Those are not tracked by the FAA (though the FAA does have control over them).

Jets and most turbo prop aircraft fly under IFR plans, almost exclusively.

Taking a VFR flight in a high profile coaching search would raise more suspicion than it would avoid." ......(This answer was in response to the statement that some of BAMA's planes could not be tracked. This little fact really upset some of the faithful.) :)



So, in the spirit of things (you see, I'm way caught up in it also), a little inspirational reading below....


"I left Texas A&M because my school called me. Mama called, and when Mama calls, then you just have to come running." — Bear Bryant commenting on why he quit A&M to come home to BAMA


"To have been in the city of Tuscaloosa in October when you were young and full of Early Times and had a shining Alabama girl by your side -to have had all that and then to have seen those red shirts pour onto the field, and, then, coming behind them, with that inexorable big cat walk of his, the man himself, The Bear -that was very good indeed" - Howell Raines


"Down here, you're not born a boy or a girl, you're born a Gamecock or Tiger. Down here, football is just as entrenched in our culture as Jesus, sweet tea and barbeque sandwiches. We say "Yes Ma'm" and "No Sir", but we also say "Roll Tide", "War Eagle" and "Pig Sooey". Down here two plus two equals third down and six."
--Georgia Heisman Trophy Winner Frank Sinkwich


"I guess I'm just too full of 'Bama." -Tommy Lewis, explaining why he charged, bareheaded, off the bench to tackle Rices' Dick Moegle who was on his way to a 95 yard TD run in the 1954 Cotton Bowl.


"You never know what a football player is made of until he plays against Alabama." -Former Tennessee Coach Bob Neyland.


"Well Eli, Smokey just came out of the tunnel, and he's about 100 yards away from me now, and if I had my deer rifle I believe I could drop him, back to you Eli" -- Jerry Duncan's comments to Eli Gold just prior to kickoff against Tennessee.


Jerry Duncan on the sideline in Knoxville in '94: "Well, Eli, these Tennessee folks are really giving it to our boys down here, they hate us. But, by God, I hate them too. Back to you, Eli."


"In the East, college football is a cultural exercise. On the West Coast, it is a tourist attraction. In the Midwest, it is cannibalism. But in the South, it is religion and Saturday is the Holy Day."


At times like these, I sure as hell miss home.

ROLL TIDE ROLL!