Thanksgiving Day 2011 is two days away, and gratitude is on the minds and in the hearts of many. Yes, it's easy to be grateful for our loved ones, home, job, and yummy, fattening food. (Can I get a witness on stuffing?!) But, this time also offers us an opportunity to show gratitude for the crappy things in our lives, for they are often our greatest teachers. On this Thanksgiving holiday, I am grateful for the following yuckies:
* My super-fugly, pumpkin-colored stretch pants from Chadwick's of Boston, which remind me that one should never compare oneself to another (or buy pants from a discount catalog)
* Mom's passing, which reminds me to fully appreciate each day that I have been given
* Snowstorms in Minnesota, which remind me how friggin' incredible the summers can be
* Sprouting pimples at 42 years of age, which remind me when I have had more Starbucks than a human should possibly consume
* Struggling with paying bills, which reminds me how fortunate I am to even have bills; there are people on this planet who don't have food to eat much less an overdue Wells Fargo credit card statement
* My alcoholic ex-f@#$buddy that treated me like shit, who reminds me that I deserved a whole lot better (and got it)
* So-called personality conflicts with insecure ninnies, which reminds me that I don't have to take on other people's drama
* Computer crashes and broken routers, which remind me that life isn't about typing on a keyboard or staring at a screen
* Not being able to do the 'crane' pose in yoga (yet), which reminds me that I have come a long way from not being able to do any pose but Savasana
* My daughter's perpetually-dirty room, which reminds me of her creativity and individuality (and ingenious ways to hide candy wrappers)
* My smallness, which reminds me of what I still need to work on
Happy Thanksgiving, and celebrate your gunk, everybody!! It's what helped create the Beauty That Is You.
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Asking Mom For Help
Sometimes we just don't want to make it a Hallmark moment.
News flash: This time of year ain't always merriment and mistletoe for everybody. For a variety of reasons, the holidays can suck for many of us. For some, it's a battle to create a festive atmosphere or supply presents under the tree when there's precious little money and no gainful employment. For others, it's an empty nest or an empty bed that brings out one's Inner Scrooge. If you are like me, the holidays can be a painful reminder of a loved one's death.
The next few days will undoubtedly be rife with love, laughter, yummy food, and fun presents to give and receive. Yet, there will also be a part of me -- a part of a lot of us -- that will be yearning for that missing someone around the dinner table. For me, it's my mom. For others, it may be a grandmother, a husband, a son, a sister, or a friend. Even though my mother won't be here in physical form, her spirit has recently been making itself known in many ways. Just yesterday, I felt I was channeling Mom as my daughter and I undertook the task of making her famous 7-layer bars. I recalled so many Christmases past where Mom would prance around the house in her red sweater and acrylic high heels, making sure everyone had something to drink and a 7-layer bar to nibble on. She was the quintessential glammed up matriarch, white zinfandel in one hand and a glowing cig in the other. No matter how many presents I receive in my lifetime, few will give me the joy I felt upon witnessing the contagious belly laugh of that little firecracker.
Yesterday, I received a telephone call from a dear friend of mine who is currently going through the same thing I did three years ago. His father is about ready to depart this world, and the transition is understandably difficult for the entire family. On one day, it seems like his dad is ready to leave; on another day, he is up and around, basking in the love of his spouse, children and grandchildren. My friend believes that he is showing one final burst of energy before he says his final goodbyes. Who knows, maybe he's waiting until after Christmas so his loved ones won't be reminded of his death on the 25th of every December. I wish I could tell him that it doesn't really matter what day he decides to die. Even if he waits a few extra days, his family will still feel the crush of his absence every year around the holidays. There will be an air of melancholy when everyone sits down to the feast. Someone will make a reference that will remind everyone of a long-running family joke. His favorite holiday movie will play on television. In so many ways he will be there still, even when he's not.
Because of this phone call I received, I decided to ask my mother for a special gift this year. I am going to ask her to help in a way that only she can do.
"Ma, please go to Jim's bedside and help him find his way to Spirit. He needs help in dropping his body so he can move on, and you are just the gal to escort him. (He's cute too!) As you know, he's probably a little afraid and worried that his family won't be able to handle his death. Reassure him, Ma, that everyone will be all right and that he is going to an amazing place filled with beauty, joy, and Divine love. Once he feels and sees you there, he'll understand that he's not really dying - just changing locales. It will help him and his family so much. Bring all of your peeps too! Thanks, Mom, for this huge gift. I love you so much!"
And I miss you too.
News flash: This time of year ain't always merriment and mistletoe for everybody. For a variety of reasons, the holidays can suck for many of us. For some, it's a battle to create a festive atmosphere or supply presents under the tree when there's precious little money and no gainful employment. For others, it's an empty nest or an empty bed that brings out one's Inner Scrooge. If you are like me, the holidays can be a painful reminder of a loved one's death.
The next few days will undoubtedly be rife with love, laughter, yummy food, and fun presents to give and receive. Yet, there will also be a part of me -- a part of a lot of us -- that will be yearning for that missing someone around the dinner table. For me, it's my mom. For others, it may be a grandmother, a husband, a son, a sister, or a friend. Even though my mother won't be here in physical form, her spirit has recently been making itself known in many ways. Just yesterday, I felt I was channeling Mom as my daughter and I undertook the task of making her famous 7-layer bars. I recalled so many Christmases past where Mom would prance around the house in her red sweater and acrylic high heels, making sure everyone had something to drink and a 7-layer bar to nibble on. She was the quintessential glammed up matriarch, white zinfandel in one hand and a glowing cig in the other. No matter how many presents I receive in my lifetime, few will give me the joy I felt upon witnessing the contagious belly laugh of that little firecracker.
Yesterday, I received a telephone call from a dear friend of mine who is currently going through the same thing I did three years ago. His father is about ready to depart this world, and the transition is understandably difficult for the entire family. On one day, it seems like his dad is ready to leave; on another day, he is up and around, basking in the love of his spouse, children and grandchildren. My friend believes that he is showing one final burst of energy before he says his final goodbyes. Who knows, maybe he's waiting until after Christmas so his loved ones won't be reminded of his death on the 25th of every December. I wish I could tell him that it doesn't really matter what day he decides to die. Even if he waits a few extra days, his family will still feel the crush of his absence every year around the holidays. There will be an air of melancholy when everyone sits down to the feast. Someone will make a reference that will remind everyone of a long-running family joke. His favorite holiday movie will play on television. In so many ways he will be there still, even when he's not.
Because of this phone call I received, I decided to ask my mother for a special gift this year. I am going to ask her to help in a way that only she can do.
"Ma, please go to Jim's bedside and help him find his way to Spirit. He needs help in dropping his body so he can move on, and you are just the gal to escort him. (He's cute too!) As you know, he's probably a little afraid and worried that his family won't be able to handle his death. Reassure him, Ma, that everyone will be all right and that he is going to an amazing place filled with beauty, joy, and Divine love. Once he feels and sees you there, he'll understand that he's not really dying - just changing locales. It will help him and his family so much. Bring all of your peeps too! Thanks, Mom, for this huge gift. I love you so much!"
And I miss you too.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
We Knew We Were Gonna See This
I am currently sitting at the Minneapolis International Airport, praying that the airplane on which I am about to board can outrun a raging blizzard. Yippy F#$king Skippy.
As a recent transplant from Florida to Minnesota, I am often asked why I would voluntarily choose to leave Paradise for life in the Frozen Tundra. (The word 'insane' is often used in the question.) When we packed up our worldly belongings in August and headed north, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Fast forward four months later, and I'm shivering my ass off. News Flash: This time of year, Minnesota gets cold. It gets BUTT-cold. It gets oh-shit-my-nipples-feel-like-they-are-going-to-friggin-fall-off cold. And it's not even Christmas. Jesus, what the hell was I thinking? I'm not swearing to the Lord; I'm literally asking Him.
Oh yeah, I remember. On the professional front, we moved for the career opportunities it afforded me. In only a short period of time, I have been able to generate significant new speaking gigs, and I believe it is directly attributable to being in a major metropolitan area like Minneapolis/St.Paul. I have also made some amazing connections, established growing friendships and had occasion to speak in front of large groups. These are all good things!
However, the more important reason for our reverse-migration has been the reconnection with my family and my roots. I was born in this Frozen Tundra forty years ago, and I have several family members that have been silly enough to remain living here (just kiddin', peeps!). What a joy is has been to have Thanksgiving with one of my brothers and his family, spend evenings playing cutthroat games of Rummikub with my niece who has suddenly grown into a woman when I wasn't looking, and chilling with my soul sis Susan while enjoying a glass of zin. Emma is on Cloud Nine-and-a-Half being so close the clan, and she proudly announces that her new BFF is her cousin Libby. To top it off, we get the pleasure of hosting Christmas Eve dinner at our home. Norman Rockwell we ain't, but it will be a great time nonetheless.
So, here I sit, fretting about the friggin' weather. I recall my husband quoting the James Cameron movie, The Abyss, whenever I start bitching about the cold or snow. He says, "We knew we were gonna see this". Yep, we knew that the weather was one of the drawbacks to our decision to move up north. But, you know what? No place is ideal. If you don't deal with blizzards every once in a while, you deal with hurricanes. If you don't deal with hurricanes, you deal with smog, fires, earthquakes, persistent traffic jams, outrageous real estate prices, or bad hairdos. Every place has a shitty part, no matter how you slice it. We made our decision to move to Minnesota based on intuition and heart, not number of inches of snow per year. We knew we were gonna see airport delays, snowplows, runny noses, and icy roads. But we also knew we were gonna see smiling faces on our children, friendly competitions of Apples to Apples around the fire, and houses full of laughter and love. My life is richer in every way for having come back home. When all is said and done, a blizzard every once in a while is a tiny price to pay.
But I won't be complaining when my plane lands in Sarasota.
As a recent transplant from Florida to Minnesota, I am often asked why I would voluntarily choose to leave Paradise for life in the Frozen Tundra. (The word 'insane' is often used in the question.) When we packed up our worldly belongings in August and headed north, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Fast forward four months later, and I'm shivering my ass off. News Flash: This time of year, Minnesota gets cold. It gets BUTT-cold. It gets oh-shit-my-nipples-feel-like-they-are-going-to-friggin-fall-off cold. And it's not even Christmas. Jesus, what the hell was I thinking? I'm not swearing to the Lord; I'm literally asking Him.
Oh yeah, I remember. On the professional front, we moved for the career opportunities it afforded me. In only a short period of time, I have been able to generate significant new speaking gigs, and I believe it is directly attributable to being in a major metropolitan area like Minneapolis/St.Paul. I have also made some amazing connections, established growing friendships and had occasion to speak in front of large groups. These are all good things!
However, the more important reason for our reverse-migration has been the reconnection with my family and my roots. I was born in this Frozen Tundra forty years ago, and I have several family members that have been silly enough to remain living here (just kiddin', peeps!). What a joy is has been to have Thanksgiving with one of my brothers and his family, spend evenings playing cutthroat games of Rummikub with my niece who has suddenly grown into a woman when I wasn't looking, and chilling with my soul sis Susan while enjoying a glass of zin. Emma is on Cloud Nine-and-a-Half being so close the clan, and she proudly announces that her new BFF is her cousin Libby. To top it off, we get the pleasure of hosting Christmas Eve dinner at our home. Norman Rockwell we ain't, but it will be a great time nonetheless.
So, here I sit, fretting about the friggin' weather. I recall my husband quoting the James Cameron movie, The Abyss, whenever I start bitching about the cold or snow. He says, "We knew we were gonna see this". Yep, we knew that the weather was one of the drawbacks to our decision to move up north. But, you know what? No place is ideal. If you don't deal with blizzards every once in a while, you deal with hurricanes. If you don't deal with hurricanes, you deal with smog, fires, earthquakes, persistent traffic jams, outrageous real estate prices, or bad hairdos. Every place has a shitty part, no matter how you slice it. We made our decision to move to Minnesota based on intuition and heart, not number of inches of snow per year. We knew we were gonna see airport delays, snowplows, runny noses, and icy roads. But we also knew we were gonna see smiling faces on our children, friendly competitions of Apples to Apples around the fire, and houses full of laughter and love. My life is richer in every way for having come back home. When all is said and done, a blizzard every once in a while is a tiny price to pay.
But I won't be complaining when my plane lands in Sarasota.
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