Old New Years and New Years to Come

I have always loved New Year’s Eve.  I love the thought of a clean slate, of starting a new chapter of a life, of looking back with reminiscence and looking forward with hope.

My earliest memories of New Year's were waking up on New Year's Day and seeing paper hats, tiaras and noisemakers on the kitchen table.  My parents would have gone to a party and brought these home for us kids to celebrate with...AFTER they woke up, of course.  I remember my big thing as a kid – actually, a pre-teen – was listening to the Top 100 Songs of the Year, played one-by-one.  Sometimes I would keep track and actually write them out in a list, but usually I would just listen.  I DID keep track of #1s…I wrote them in my diary.  Anyway, I would have my little transistor radio in-hand all day, listening to the countdown.  I still look forward to various annual music countdowns; tonight we'll be watching the countdown of the Top Country Music Videos.  The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Some years I would watch the Ball drop in New York on “Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve”; some years I would listen to the New Year come in on the radio.  I always looked forward to that final “3…2…1…HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!”

The change of decades would be fun, sometimes, too.

I never really went out for a big New Year’s Eve party.  As a kid, teen, and young adult I usually stayed home.  I remember the year I was 17 my mother gave me a single-serving bottle of Andre’s Pink Champagne to share with my then-boyfriend.  I remember making him a “fancy” dinner (Chicken Au Gratin, frozen), then having the radio on, and toasting in the New Year with him.  I thought it was a Big Deal at the time. 

After I got married we still didn’t go out, but preferred to remain at home.  We would watch movies, or listen to music, but we always made it special and romantic.  There were two years when friends of ours would have a small party at their home; those were the only years we went out.  Some years my husband would have to work; he would call me at midnight so that we could still see the New Year in together.

Now we have the girls, and they LOVE staying up ‘til midnight for the New Year!  They take a nap in the afternoon before: the only time – other than to watch a NASCAR night race – that they will willingly and voluntarily nap.  After dinner the home turns into a big pajama party.  We all wash up and get into jammies, make some popcorn and watch a movie or two, play some games, and just have a good time.  Right before Midnight we pour the Toast:  non-alcoholic sparkling white grape for the adults (the girls don’t like “fizz”, but our older one is willing to go for it this year) and white grape juice for the girls.  We watch the ball drop, make a toast, say a prayer for the coming year, and talk about either something we loved from the year just past or something we’re looking forward to in the New Year.  Then we go around and change the calendars, officially setting the New Year.

Maybe some year, when the girls are older, we may go out.  However, even if we never do, I like my New Year's as they are.

Oh, one thing that we DON'T do is New Year's Resolutions.

Happy New Year, everyone!  May God bless you and yours, and may 2012 be filled with love, light, health and beauty.

My Christmas Poem

The following poem is an old one, one that I have been posting almost every year since I wrote it.  However, this is MY blog, so I can post it again if I want to!  :)  I've written other Christmas poems, but this one is my favorite.

The story behind the writing of this poem is interesting and timely.

It was 1983: the year of the dreaded Cabbage Patch Dolls.  As I mentioned in an earlier blog, it was not a good time.  Working in a department store was not the best place to be that particular Christmas.  I was really seeing almost the very worst of humanity.  The Christmas Spirit seemed to have flown away.  The season was definitely spoiled for me.

One particular day I was working, and they needed me on a register because of the crowds.  In the line was a woman with her young son...maybe about 4 or 5 years old.  He was being a little terror.  He was running around, swinging on the dividers between the registers, whining about wanting this or that, yelling...you get the idea.  Finally, the mother turned to him and said, in an overly-sweet, overly reasoning tone, "If you don't behave, Santa won't bring you anything for Christmas."

The little boy looked up at his mother, put his hands on his hips, and said, "I don't care; I know I'm getting stuff from Grandma and Grandpa anyway!"

That evening I went home and wrote this poem.

(It just occurred to me that the little boy would be about 33 years old now; I wonder how he turned out?)

Anyway, here it is...Merry Christmas!

Christmas Anxiety

"What does Christmas mean to you?"
I asked the little child
I waited as I looked at him
My mind was running wild
-

I knew that most kids thought about
Santa for one thing
And all the toys and goodies
And other things he's bring
-

Toys and gifts and candy
Snowballs by the score
School vacations, Christmas trees
A wreath on every door
-

Lots of visiting relatives
Dressed in Sunday best
Kissing aunts and cousins
Uncomfortable at best
-

I anticipated this
Until I heard him say
"The little Baby Jesus
Was born on Christmas Day"
-

I hugged the child closely
My eyes were filled with tears
For Christmas is remembered
Even after all these years

(c) "Amalthea Celebras"  K.C. Fahel  12 December 1983

Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the dreaded Black Friday

To me, the Holidays (and I always spell it with a capital “H”) have always been not only about their “definition” meanings (Thanksgiving = giving thanks, etc.) but also about family, friends, fellowship…and sometimes food.  I usually think of things like, “It’ll be so good to see so-and-so again,” or something along those lines.  I think of the people who make the Holidays special.  I think back to Holidays of my childhood and my feelings there.

What doesn’t usually come to my mind are things like, “Oh, I’ve GOT to run to the store to get this almost-impossible-to-get-but-gotta-have item for so-and so!  They’ll be so impressed!” or “I’ve got to get there early so I can be the first one there!”

I think y’all can see where I’m going with this:  the dreaded BLACK FRIDAY!!!

I don’t remember, as a child, really being exposed to that kind of pre-Christmas behavior.  I DO remember stores being a lot more filled, carriages being a lot more filled, and cashier lines being a little longer, but that was about it.

The first time I remember really facing the hell that is Black Friday was 1983; the first year I worked in retail.  It was also the year that those monstrosities – Cabbage Patch Dolls – hit the major market.  They had been available before, but special order (and I believe you had to go to a special place…I don’t remember, and I don’t really care enough to research it).  However, in 1983, they hit retail, with a fury and a vengeance that was unbelievable.  I had a front-row seat to otherwise grown, sane people becoming like wild animals, quite literally fighting each other for the ugly little beasts.  There were days when a group of us were asked to come in extra-early – about 3 AM – to put shelves back up where they were torn down, pick up items that were liberally tossed onto the floor, and try to make the toy department look like a toy department and not a war zone.  I did this even though I actually worked in the automotive department; they needed that many people.

Another Black Friday I remember was a beautiful, balmy one, around 1990-ish.  My husband and I went to a toy store to just get ideas of what we wanted to get the children in our lives.  We didn’t actually purchase anything, and weren’t too upset by the rude and pushy people that were running roughshod through the aisles.  However, when we stepped out of the store and walked to the car, we saw that someone had taken some black spray paint and just went right along a row of cars that had been parked nose-to-tail and sprayed all down the sides, and this included our beautiful teal 1977 Firebird.

What is it about Black Friday that brings out the absolute worst in people?  I’m reluctant to go anywhere on this day any more, going so far as to be sure that no groceries or other important items will run short that particular day.  The last bunch of years I’ve used this day to do Christmas decorating and attempting to get into the Christmas spirit…at least until I hear on the news about the latest Black Friday atrocities which have included stabbing, shootings, pepper-sprayings and even, this past year, at least two warnings of explosive items.

To make matters worse, Black Friday has started creeping into Thanksgiving Thursday!  It used to be that the stores would open at the usual time, then it would open a few hours earlier, then we had Midnight Specials…now the insanity is encouraged as early as 10:00pm Thursday, when most people should still be digesting their wonderful meal and sharing memories – and making new ones – with families and loved-ones.

I have a kind of schedule I like to keep around these Holidays.  It begins with a wonderful Thanksgiving Eve service, which is almost always uplifting and filled with love and gratitude.  Thanksgiving Day the attitude of gratitude carries on as, before eating a nice, large meal, we share what we are thankful for.  The past meets the future as I watch the Macy’s Parade with the girls.  As previously mentioned, the next day is reserved for setting the home – and our hearts – for the Birthday of our Savior (and I know that historians point out that his actual Birthday is in the spring, so let’s just leave that alone).  The following month is usually spent loving our neighbors, friends and families, church events, and music, culminating in Christmas morning, when we sing “Happy Birthday” to the figure of Baby Jesus as he gets put in the manger of our Nativity Scene, and exchanging gifts, representing…well…birthday gifts.

I’m not saying that I absolutely don’t think of shopping.  We try to get the girls and the other children in our lives gifts that are fun and that they will enjoy, but it’s not with an attitude of trying to impress.  Thankfully, my whole family is pretty much like that as well.  I'm also not saying that I don't occasionally fall prey to the stress of "can we afford this'n'that" or "is there time?"  I can stress as well as the next person.

So, please, in the spirit of the Holidays, just keep in mind the phrase, “Peace on earth, good will to men”…and let’s try to win Thanksgiving back.

Common Courtesy

Today my little Butterfly graduated from Kindergarten.  It was a lovely ceremony, especially since this was the first time the school has done it.  The children recited a poem together, sang a song, then each child was called up by their teacher to receive a small certificate, then a final song.  Each child wore a "mortarboard" in the school colors.  It was wonderfully orchestrated, and the children seemed to sense the solemnity of the ceremony and conducted themselves properly.

I wish I could say the same about the parents.

Parents were pushing and shoving to try to get just the right picture, not paying any attention to the OTHER parents who were attempting to do likewise.  Some parents were paying more attention to taking pictures than when it was time to stand and recite the National Anthem.  A number of them, in their zeal to get the perfect shot, even blocked the aisle where the little scholars were supposed to march down.  We had gotten there early so that we would have a good seat; however, the very second our little one's name was called and she went up to get her certificate, someone quite literally plowed in front of  us.  We got a lovely shot of the woman's back...but none of our daughter receiving her certificate.

The absolute worse was near the end.  The parents of the first two classes figured that, since their little ones were already called up, they can talk and make all of the noise they want.  Sitting right in the front, I could barely hear the last teacher call the names.

I know that this was only a Kindergarten graduation, but I have found similar behavior at the high school and college graduation ceremonies I have been to.  People take all leave of their senses, of any decorum or...well...common courtesy at these ceremonies.    Between the pushing, blocking, cat-calls, hollers and screams, it has become a rather unpleasant experience.

Save the hoopla for the after-graduation party, and kindly remember that there are OTHER parents there, as well.

"Funny how falling feels like flying for a little while"

"Funny how falling feels like flying for a little while"

This line is from one of the songs in the movie "Crazy Heart", the movie that gave Jeff Bridges his first Oscar.  However, I don't want to talk about the Oscars, Mr. Bridges, or the movie.

I want to talk about that line.

How true it is!  Picture if you will jumping out of an airplane.  You're falling through the air and you KNOW it's going to hurt when you land if you don't open your parashute...but in that time, you're soaring through the air.  You MAY even be able to guide your general direction by using your arms...it feels like flying...

...until you realize that you're still just falling.

The same can be said for any bad decision you make.  For a while you may feel good, maybe even in control of the situation.  However, the truth of the matter is, no matter HOW good that flying may feel, you're still going to hit the ground with a resounding thud at the end of it. 

The thing is, we all fall.  Everyone jumps out of that airplane once in a while.  Sometimes it's willingly, sometimes you may get pushed.  (Funny thing is, when one is pushed, one still has the option of grabbing the doorway, but I digress).  It's your reaction to the fall that makes the difference.

I am thankful that I haven't jumped out of too many airplanes.  I'm also thankful that Jesus has always been my parashute for when I have.

Musical Musings

I can not remember a time in my life when music wasn't a major part of it.  Since my oldest siblings were teens (or just about) when I was born, they always had records playing, or the radio.  My parents also enjoyed music.  I remember that on Sundays my father had control of the radio, and it would be country music.  My mother was a movie and theatre nut, so whenever a musical was on TV, odds were she would have it on.

I know that the first two songs that I absolutely fell in love with were "To Sir, With Love" by Lulu, and "People/Second Hand Rose" by Barbra Streisand.  I was probably around 2 or 3 when I first heard those songs; I don't remember ever not even knowing those songs.

I remember listening to a lot of Peter, Paul and Mary, and the Mamas & Papas.  I remember one particular day - I believe it was my oldest sister - called me into the living room to listen to a song..."listen carefully to the very end of the song, when it starts to fade away"...and I was captivated by the carousel music at the very end of Blood, Sweat & Tears' "Spinning Wheel".

I remember constantly asking this same sister to PLEASE play "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" (by Iron Butterfly) AGAIN...the WHOLE song...the LONG version...and the pictures that would form in my head when listening to it.

I remember singing with my sisters.  We learned most of the songs from "Godspell", with "By My Side" being a particular favorite of mine. 

My other older sister and I would sit on the swings and sing song after song...singing and swinging..."The Boy From Ipanema" comes to mind as one.

Music has a strong effect on me.  The scream at the beginning of the Beatles' "Revolution" bothered me as a small child.  "Incense & Peppermints" by Strawberry Alarm Clock bothered me a little bit, but I got over that.  However, to this very day, I can NOT listen to "Her Majesty" (at the end of the Beatles' "Abbey Road") and "Green Tambourine" by the Lemon Pipers...not at all.  Can't explain it; it just does something to my head.

I've always loved to sing.  Whether I'm any good or not is immaterial.  If I know a song, I'll sing it.  I sing in the shower.  I sing while doing dishes.  I sing while driving.  I sing at church.  I've been known to at least hum along with "hold" music at work.

To this very day, I get antsy if there isn't music playing, if only just in the background.  I can't abide flat-out silence.  Music is as much a part of my being as the air that I breathe...

...which is also a very good song.

How times have changed...

I remember my childhood so vividly.  In the May of 1972 we moved out to the suburbs.  It was just a few months before I turned 8, before my younger brother was born.  Moving out to the suburbs from "the city" was pretty big for me.  In our old house, we had a chain-link-fenced in, tiny yard.  We were just a little off Main Street, so there was quite a bit of traffic.  Also, I was very young, so my freedom was a bit lacking.

When we moved, I thought we were living in the country; I started looking for cows and chickens!  Our yard - fence-less - was easily twice the size of our old yard.  There were few cars driving up and down our street.  I immediately befriended the couple next door, watching as they put up their log-style fence, which was easy to cut through, and played with their poodle.  Behind us was a family with three boys, the youngest just born.  Soon after, a family moved in on the other side with lots of kids, but the best of all were the two youngest: two girls almost my age!  Taffy was 7, Karen was 6.  The 3 of us became inseparable.  Just down the street (I could see their home from my bedroom window) was another family with two girls, Christine (6-1/2) and Michelle (5). I had my crew!

The five of us could go anywhere and do anything.  We could take our bikes to the playground, or to the little convenience store with our change and buy snacks.  We could bounce back and forth and play in each others' yards.  Since Taffy & Karen's yard was adjacent to mine...and no fence...we had a HUGE playing field.  We had sleepovers and birthday parties and picnics.  We would take long walks and just talk.  I'll never forget the one time the 5 of us went - with no parents - to see the movie "Once Upon a Time".  We even put on a neighborhood show once.  Occasionally we were joined by others, but us 5 were the core group.

I would also fly solo.  I had 2 other friends, both named Kim, whose houses were one behind the other (and they both had swimming pools).  There was the beautiful and mysterious Maria, who lived just a tick down the road.  Donna and Cindy (and Cindy's little sister, Michelle) lived behind me, next to and across the street from the house with 3 boys (and eventually there was a 4th; the two younger brothers became good friends with my younger brother).  Karl lived across the street when I was a little older: he was a playmate during the day, but on some evenings his parents would hire me to babysit him and his younger brother, Paul.

The oddest "friend" I had was a man who lived up the hill from me.  I can't remember his name, but I remember he had a dog, an old, short, fat, ugly, sweet dog named Hobo.  I would go to his house frequently, sit in his living room and talk with him, and pat ol' Hobo.  Sometimes we would have lemonade (I don't remember ever eating anything there).  We had wonderful conversations, and he never, ever, did anything improper or untowards me.

I shudder now to think of that.

Deborah is now the age I was when I had all that freedom, and the thought makes me ill.  As much as I would love to give her and Elizabeth that kind of freedom and adventure, I can't.  We live in a scary age now.  While I can't say that "we could leave our houses unlocked and our keys in our cars" (although we could leave are CARS unlocked), things were a LOT more innocent then.  This is also a very different neighborhood, closer to the one my parents moved AWAY from.  Everyone watched out for everyone else then.  Nowadays, it's too much "everyone look out for yourself".  There are also a lot more people out there now who ARE dangerous.

I lament the change in society, and I mourn that innocent age.

"Mommy": it's not just a job...it's an adventure!

I have to say that I LOVE being a mother.  Our two little girls mean the world to me.  Sometimes I look at them and marvel that God had allowed me to be a part of their lives.

I love just about every part of being a mother.  The one part I really feel that I could barely handle was potty training...and, thankfully, THAT part is LONG over.  I didn't mind late-night feedings (although I blame THAT for my addiction to "Degrassi"), diapers, "NO", and (sorry for the TMI) spit-up.  All those things are nothing in the light of a first smile, a tiny hand slipping into mine, little arms wrapped firmly around my neck in a nice, squeezy-hug, and - of course - "I love you, Mommy".

I am so blessed and fortunate.  We haven't had to deal with any major illnesses (and precious few minor ones).  Both girls have fantastic personalities, neither of them sullen or disobedient.  One is quieter and extremely studious - very cerebreal - and the other is sunny and funny and outgoing.  They balance each other out, and share their strengths with each other to even out the weaknesses.  I also love how, since they are so close in age (2 years, 4 months), they are such good friends with each other.

I'm still at the beginning of this journey.  The girls are 8 and 6 years old.  Such wonderful ages; still dependent upon me for so much, but finding their wings and able to do so much on their own.

Incidentally, there are two phrases that both warm my heart and, simultaneously, strike terror into it:

"I can do it myself!"

and

"I have an idea!"

I can't believe I'm doing this...

OK, here I go...

I've never done anything like this before.  OK, I lied; I used to write in a diary as a young girl - from age 10 all the way to around the time I turned 18.  I "jotted" and "twittled" bits and pieces here and there after that. 

I'd always loved the concept of keeping a journal, diary, whatever, but time has never been on my side for a formal one. 

I had written a lot to friends back in my Digital days; a lot of it was rather diary-like.  Lately I'd taken to posting important things in a topic (similarly titled) in a forum that I help to moderate.  I'm hoping this will give me the convenience, inspiration and motivation to write some more.

I love to write.  Actually, I love to type.  I'm not sure what I will say, but I'll try to keep my thoughts inspiring and entertaining.  What will I write about?  I don't know that yet.  Memories, events, thoughts, whatever strikes my fancy.  A lot of it might not make much sense (like this particular one is gearing towards), but this is really for me.  If anyone else gets anything out of it, bonus!

So here I go...into the fray...