It’s just the best holiday ever—-delicious food and favorite family recipes, splendid time playing board games and boundless laughter, high-handed schemes and faulty attempts to hide the TV remote just to annoy my football-obsessed elder brothers, etc. Ahhh! What could be better!
Normally, my Mom and I bundle up my nieces and nephews after our delightful lunch and brave snow, hail or wind all for the 3-block walk from our family home to the village library. Here in this small Midwestern town, the city yearly maintains a life-sized manger scene complete with Mary, Joseph, baby Jesus, shepherds, the wisemen, and farm animals. There we enjoy a visit with Baby Jesus, and I utilize my own paparazzi-like skills to take as many pictures as possible to capture these fleeting moments of whimsy. I try to suppress my laughter as one niece gives Joseph a kiss, and another sizes a shepherd up to see if she has grown taller than he this year. My nephews climb all over the animals and pose for funny shots as they straddle a camel or cow.
Next we march over to the Croswell Swinging Bridge, the 2nd stop on our annual pilgrimage. I usually bolt across the suspension bridge chasing after my 2 eldest nephews, while my Mom lags behind a bit and manages to hold the hands of my younger nieces and nephews as they timidly cross the wooden bridge—trying not to look down at the muddy waters below.
The playground near the bridge is always a highlight of our visit. The kids scramble up and down, in and out of the various amusements. My Mom tirelessly pushes a couple of her grandchildren on the swings while I keep an eye on the others and attempt to keep them from hurting each other and themselves.
Afterwards, we trudge back through the elements homeward bound, ready to return indoors and enjoy some hot chocolate and other treats. It’s truly an enjoyable experience, and one I do look forward to every year. What fine memories we have made!
This year, we’re not going home to Michigan for Thanksgiving. We won’t have our traditional walk to look forward to this season, but I am confident that we’ll have new delights to revel in. We’ll still have most of the family together in one house, and so that’s a blessing! We’ll still enjoy some family game time, and I have no doubt there will be plenty of photo opportunities as well.
Yes, I’m anticipating another fine holiday season…
Not quite like the small, square yellow sticky notes at all really...think legal size post-its!!
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Friday, November 11, 2005
There is something about Jane Austen that makes me long for England...
The English countryside has always been my favorite future destination for as long as I can remember. I picture myself meandering along the green hills and keenly admiring the estate homes and gardens…camera in hand, of course.
My sister has more than once reminded me that the England of movies is far from the England that tourists encounter, and that perhaps my visit to England is best left to my romantic impressions from literature and my vivid imagination.
After all…
1. There won’t be any swashbuckling gentleman vowing for my hand in marriage or escorting me to wonderful parties. This is really a shame, need I say more. But then I too like Jane have stayed single because I have yet to meet my own beloved Captain Wentworth or the ever-elusive Mr. Darcy.
2. I won’t be found waltzing along a ballroom floor. We all know this girl can’t dance. I have no rhythm—just ask my sister, who became my own personal metronome when I was learning to play the piano. And as for my dance moves, I’ve watched myself in the mirror, and it’s not a pretty sight. Picture the moves of The Egyptian, The Robot and The Funky Chicken all rolled into one grotesque scene. Rather tragic in of itself.
3. I can’t elegantly cantor across the countryside on a horse. I don’t resemble anything slightly elegant on a horse, and I don’t sit nicely in the saddle. (Actually, I’m not sure what that means, but I know I don’t qualify.) My horse riding abilities are rather limited, to say the least, and I usually end up practically strangling the horse by my tight grip on the reins. I’m far too engrossed in my mere survival astride this massive beast to consider my posture or “seat.”
4. My walks across the countryside would be more than slightly inhibited by the fact that I am completely out of shape. I would certainly not keep up with Lizzie and her delightful daily romps at Rosings Park. Yes, I think Lizzie would have to abandon me along the path after about 3 miles as I suffered yet another near fatal asthma attack brought on by far too many carbohydrates in my 31 years and my lack of regular exercise. I’d be winded and wheezing—a pathetic sight indeed.
5. And then there’s the idea that everyone seems to state—doesn’t it rain a lot in England? Maybe so, but the sun does shine sometimes—even in England, right? I’m convinced it does, and so while I’m cooped up indoors awaiting more pleasant weather for touring the countryside, I can re-read my favorite parts of Jane Austen’s books and be struck anew with the freshness and vitality of her words 200 years since she wrote them.
Maybe not today, tomorrow or even next year, but someday I plan to take that trip to England. Until then, I can revel in the magic of British literature, television, theatre and movies so accessible to me. And tonight I will get to see the newest rendition of Pride and Prejudice on the big screen. [SIGH!] Happy thought indeed…
My sister has more than once reminded me that the England of movies is far from the England that tourists encounter, and that perhaps my visit to England is best left to my romantic impressions from literature and my vivid imagination.
After all…
1. There won’t be any swashbuckling gentleman vowing for my hand in marriage or escorting me to wonderful parties. This is really a shame, need I say more. But then I too like Jane have stayed single because I have yet to meet my own beloved Captain Wentworth or the ever-elusive Mr. Darcy.
2. I won’t be found waltzing along a ballroom floor. We all know this girl can’t dance. I have no rhythm—just ask my sister, who became my own personal metronome when I was learning to play the piano. And as for my dance moves, I’ve watched myself in the mirror, and it’s not a pretty sight. Picture the moves of The Egyptian, The Robot and The Funky Chicken all rolled into one grotesque scene. Rather tragic in of itself.
3. I can’t elegantly cantor across the countryside on a horse. I don’t resemble anything slightly elegant on a horse, and I don’t sit nicely in the saddle. (Actually, I’m not sure what that means, but I know I don’t qualify.) My horse riding abilities are rather limited, to say the least, and I usually end up practically strangling the horse by my tight grip on the reins. I’m far too engrossed in my mere survival astride this massive beast to consider my posture or “seat.”
4. My walks across the countryside would be more than slightly inhibited by the fact that I am completely out of shape. I would certainly not keep up with Lizzie and her delightful daily romps at Rosings Park. Yes, I think Lizzie would have to abandon me along the path after about 3 miles as I suffered yet another near fatal asthma attack brought on by far too many carbohydrates in my 31 years and my lack of regular exercise. I’d be winded and wheezing—a pathetic sight indeed.
5. And then there’s the idea that everyone seems to state—doesn’t it rain a lot in England? Maybe so, but the sun does shine sometimes—even in England, right? I’m convinced it does, and so while I’m cooped up indoors awaiting more pleasant weather for touring the countryside, I can re-read my favorite parts of Jane Austen’s books and be struck anew with the freshness and vitality of her words 200 years since she wrote them.
Maybe not today, tomorrow or even next year, but someday I plan to take that trip to England. Until then, I can revel in the magic of British literature, television, theatre and movies so accessible to me. And tonight I will get to see the newest rendition of Pride and Prejudice on the big screen. [SIGH!] Happy thought indeed…
Wednesday, November 2, 2005
Crushing and Dreaming...
I’ve had a slight crush on the single guy in a Christian musical group for a while now. This group visits my church yearly, and so I’ve become a bit of a fan. I think the crush really started when I checked out their website, and his profile cracked me up. He was able to laugh at himself and use sarcasm well, and that’s a huge positive in my book. Plus there was the music factor. Not only does he sing in the group—he is the main musician. He plays the piano extraordinarily well and also works the keyboards, etc. So needless to say, he’s very talented.
Well, this past weekend was their annual visit to my church. And this time, the group had some news about the single guy’s marital status. He had recently gotten engaged. I was happy for him and even happier for the girl now sporting a ring, but I’d be lying if I denied the little inward sighing on my part. Now this crush, like almost all of my crushes of the past was just that—a crush. This was no burgeoning romance, no broken heart, no tears or resentment.
As I drove home that night from the concert, I started laughing at myself. What was that sigh for? It wasn’t like I had thought of him more than twice in the past year. How would my life be different now that I knew he was engaged? It wouldn’t be. Would there be anything missing from my life? No. It wasn’t as if we’d been corresponding or communicating in anyway. We’re strangers to one another.
Fact is I’m a chronic dreamer, and I tend to imagine even after a brief meeting what it would be like to get to know someone better. A random act of kindness or a chance encounter has me pondering the what-ifs for hours. Spending an hour in conversation with someone I find mentally stimulating has me curiously distracted as I contemplate how to arrange a second meeting. More than once or twice A WEEK, I contemplate what life would be life with that man, this other man or that guy over there.
I’m fickle. There is no consistency in my day dreams. It’s not that all of these men are blonde or tall. There’s no special attribute that all of these men have in common really either—with the exception that there was something about them that intrigued me.
Well, this past Sunday night as I drove home after the concert, there was one thing that I realized about my day dreams that I think is harmful. This musician I thought rather remarkable has a life on the road probably 40 out of 52 weeks a year. I was imagining how fun it would be to travel on tour with the group. Well, the truth is that one of us is home 40 out of 52 weekends in a year, and while touring might have some glamorous appeal, I’d probably prefer to be home in my own space rather than on a cramped tour bus any day. I’m not the type of person that would want to be put on the spot or brought out from the shadows on display as the group traveled from church to church either. I’m a behind the scenes person. I wouldn't like life on the road, and I'd definitely not be a trophy wife.
And what about all the others I’ve daydreamed about in the past? The same is true. See, I tend to imagine my life in their world as if a relationship was a way to escape my own world. I’ve been picturing me in their lives, but I can’t really imagine them in mine, which is rather ironic. It seems to me that THAT would be something that would need to be a match! What is so wrong with my own life that I feel I need to move on to another life rather than looking for someone to share the life that I’m living?
Something is wrong with that picture…
Well, this past weekend was their annual visit to my church. And this time, the group had some news about the single guy’s marital status. He had recently gotten engaged. I was happy for him and even happier for the girl now sporting a ring, but I’d be lying if I denied the little inward sighing on my part. Now this crush, like almost all of my crushes of the past was just that—a crush. This was no burgeoning romance, no broken heart, no tears or resentment.
As I drove home that night from the concert, I started laughing at myself. What was that sigh for? It wasn’t like I had thought of him more than twice in the past year. How would my life be different now that I knew he was engaged? It wouldn’t be. Would there be anything missing from my life? No. It wasn’t as if we’d been corresponding or communicating in anyway. We’re strangers to one another.
Fact is I’m a chronic dreamer, and I tend to imagine even after a brief meeting what it would be like to get to know someone better. A random act of kindness or a chance encounter has me pondering the what-ifs for hours. Spending an hour in conversation with someone I find mentally stimulating has me curiously distracted as I contemplate how to arrange a second meeting. More than once or twice A WEEK, I contemplate what life would be life with that man, this other man or that guy over there.
I’m fickle. There is no consistency in my day dreams. It’s not that all of these men are blonde or tall. There’s no special attribute that all of these men have in common really either—with the exception that there was something about them that intrigued me.
Well, this past Sunday night as I drove home after the concert, there was one thing that I realized about my day dreams that I think is harmful. This musician I thought rather remarkable has a life on the road probably 40 out of 52 weeks a year. I was imagining how fun it would be to travel on tour with the group. Well, the truth is that one of us is home 40 out of 52 weekends in a year, and while touring might have some glamorous appeal, I’d probably prefer to be home in my own space rather than on a cramped tour bus any day. I’m not the type of person that would want to be put on the spot or brought out from the shadows on display as the group traveled from church to church either. I’m a behind the scenes person. I wouldn't like life on the road, and I'd definitely not be a trophy wife.
And what about all the others I’ve daydreamed about in the past? The same is true. See, I tend to imagine my life in their world as if a relationship was a way to escape my own world. I’ve been picturing me in their lives, but I can’t really imagine them in mine, which is rather ironic. It seems to me that THAT would be something that would need to be a match! What is so wrong with my own life that I feel I need to move on to another life rather than looking for someone to share the life that I’m living?
Something is wrong with that picture…
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