On an unrelated note

Everyone gets music stuck in their head from time to time. J is STILL singing Christmas music, for instance. Yesterday I heard her humming the 12 Days of Christmas, and every once in a while I would hear her belt out, "Five GO-old RINNNNGGS!" from various places around the house.

JBL and I are equally succeptible to having songs planted in our minds, and we will tag each other for a cheap thrill. He'll get me with terrible 70's songs (Doctor My Eyes, being a prime example), and I'll retaliate with God knows what. I'm particularly sly, sometimes humming just a few notes subtly as he's walking by to get more coffee in the morning.

Most commonly, as is true with everyone, I have favorite songs or pieces of commercials repeating themselves in my mind, sometimes for days on end. Occasionally I will ruminate over words, phrases, or pieces of poems.

But for the past few days I have had the 3rd movement from Rimsky-Korsakov's Sheherazade going through my mind. In and out it floats. It even plagued me when I had a short bout of insomnia last night (is 2 hours short? I think so). I would love to dump it from my mental record player, but I can usually only succeed in that endeavor by actually hearing the music in question. Too bad my CD is all but lost, buried in the back of a dresser drawer with 1000 other discs (thanks JBL), making the drawer too heavy to actually open. ACK. I need release from this never-ending recording...

Weaknesses

I have the munchies today. I rarely think of chocolate, and yet....I got some Valentine's kisses at the store and have had 2 already. Wish I'd never bought 'em. I'm definitely not buying anything else (M&M's, I'm thinking about you) when the chocolates run out.

Colloquialisms 'r us

"I wish I had a dollar for every time the [trash can] lid didn't stay open for me!"

At first, that statement struck me as funny, thinking that J doesn't have a sense of the value of a dollar. But then I realized that we do live near a 'Dollar Tree', and she loves shopping there with me. Teachable moments sneak up on you wherever you are...

Other phrases I've heard of late:
"Oh goodness gracious!"
"Who the? What the?"
"Who needs boys?"

Who, indeed?

On an unrelated note, I just got back from a meeting with my boss. J attended and was outstanding. She's just a really good girl. Now she's looking for attention (obviously). I also have laundry waiting, a tempo run, plus wrap-up work from the aforementioned meeting.

I'd really like to take a nap.

Escape and appreciation

Early next week I will be in Chicago on business. Do you know how long it has been since I have used that phrase? Well, it feels like I never actually did. I know it has only been five years, but it truly feels like may career occurred a lifetime ago - like it happened when I was someone else. And I suppose that's not really far from the truth.

Anyone will tell you being a mother is a job unto itself. You'll nod when you hear that, and maybe if you're like me, you'll think, "Don't be so overly dramatic. It's not rocket science." But you might be curious about it. And if you're female, you might have that whole hormone thing happen, and you'll give it a try.

Motherhood really isn't rocket science, but it can - for me, anyway - take everything you have to give. Now I admit I tend to throw myself into things, feet first, but I really do feel my job as a mom is all-encompassing. And I absolutely love it. I love deciding what nutritious, well-balanced meals to serve every day. I love working with both girls on their academics, and finding fun ways to keep them challenged. I am highly motivated to protect the girls, and help them work through the messages they get from the media concerning our world and culture. I love building memories and starting traditions. And, selfishly, I just love to be around and watch the them grow. For these reasons, I have chosen to work for others in limited amounts, and only when I can do it from home.

Besides, what do I have to pine for? I had years to follow my career path, attend graduate school, test the limits of my capabilities, and prove that I could take care of myself.

That said, the grass can still look greener on the other side. Sometimes. I have what I believe to be a larger than average number of friends with no kids, and man, can their freedom look appealing*. I can hardly imagine what it would be like to not have to plan for big costs like educations and weddings, as well as the little costs that balloon for unknown reasons, like the value of fresh fruit on your grocery list. I cringe with dismay at the invitations I have to turn down to go to multiple concerts in a month, or to fly last-minute to Amsterdam. I cheer with half-hearted enthusiasm for couples who schedule regular, long vacations alone together in warm climates. I sneer silently at their complaints of having to worry about their pets while away from home. Though these thoughts can make me feel like a bad person, I know they're fairly normal.

Thus, I am not hiding the fact that I am looking forward to being in a hotel for a couple days. No laundry to do. No bathrooms to clean. No one replying, 'No!' or 'WHY?' to everything I say, just to test my resolve. I will have uninterrupted hours in the evenings of quiet for reading or flipping through the TV. I will be dining out in a cool town packed with fabulous restaurants. I will meet new professionals in interesting businesses, and (hopefully) add value to my small but growing company.

And as much as I love being home, there's nothing like travel to make you pleasantly introspective. I love that feeling of being myself, but out of my usual environment. It's almost like trying on a new hat. Or going by a different name. Or something like that. Anyway, it makes me take a new view of life, in a refreshing way. Hopefully I'll come back a renewed person ready to hunker back down into the mom life I already love.

Or at least I'll have some new experiences to write about.

*Please know that I am fully aware of how incredibly lucky I am. I have one daughter, and a step-daughter who is with us about half-time. Both girls are unusually healthy and wonderfully sweet-natured. I am aware and deeply grateful that my life is piled high with blessings, especially compared to families with many kids, or those with a chronic illness to manage. Just so you know.

Sunday dinner

Tried and loved:

http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Gumbo-Ya-Ya-104672

And yes, the roux was worth it.

Where we are

We got out the Valentine's decorations this week. I know, I know. It's early. But the girls needed something to look forward to, something cheerful around a house surrounded by gray and brown. I can feel the season starting to pick up speed, almost like the earth is tilting under me, and it's a bittersweet feeling. Who doesn't get sick of winter? But I'm aware that if I wish for time to speed up, it will rush through the coming warm months as well, and then where will I be? Besides, I don't want to miss what's happening right now.

J is working at her craft table, applying pencil and stencil, stickers and feathers, to paper. She's sniffling. Here comes another cold, I guess. She isn't slowed down yet. She is softly singing a montage of Santa Claus is Coming to Town and songs from the musical, Annie. "You'd better watch out...you'd better nooootttt cryyyyyy....you know you're never fully dressssed without a smiiiilllle!"

K, who is at her mom's today, also enjoys such quiet and creative times. When she was here Wednesday evening, she quickly converted our basement play area into a restaurant, complete with hostess/cashier station, table with centerpiece, kitchen area and pantry. All manner of toys from throughout the basement were brought in. Existing vignettes, like the fully furnished dollhouse, were turned on their proverbial heads to support The Game. K barked out orders to J, who lovingly followed her every direction. She then settled down and spent an hour creating menus.

I can tell they are in need of a change, though. They have less patience towards each other. They both seem a little more forgetful, and more easily tired out by the rigors of their respective days. I wish I could come up with one 70 degree sunny day where they could play outside til dusk. But I will have to settle for some other refresher, and I have tried some ideas this week. We made smores in the family room fireplace. J and I had lunch al fresco on the strange 50 degree Friday (the deck was downright toasty if we sat pressed up against the house). I helped J make orange juice popsicles this morning (thanks, Sid the Science Kid).

Christmastime has so many easy fun activities, and its effects are still being felt. J continues to 'wrap' presents for me. I get notes in envelopes labeled, "Dear Mommy, I hope you have a merry Christmas. Love, Juliet." (Or, rather, 'DEERE MOMMY i Hop U HAbAVARGE MARECiSMUS. LOVE JULIET.') But I have also begun receiving Valentines. Hopefully I can continue to dig in and keep this winter fun. Every season should be a delightful treat for the taking...

Bad grocery song of the day

Love Will Lead You Back - Taylor Dayne

I suppose it's better than Love Will Keep Us Together by the Captain and Tennille. On a related note, there should be more 'and' groups out there. Captain and Tennille. Tony Orlando and Dawn. (I know... Drivin' and Cryin'. Belle and Sebastian. But we need even more than that.)

Knife to the heart

I was driving J to school this morning, and we were late enough (imagine that) to get stuck behind the local kindergarten bus. Normally this sets my teeth on edge, because living in EBF Central Maryland means your main road down to the highway has few side streets, and no neighborhoods (besides mine) where kids can congregate. All the houses are perched roadside, and behind them is farmland. That means the buses must stop at every stinking driveway down 94 until they make an appointed turn. Luckily this bus always turns about halfway down, so there is only 5 minutes of stop and go.

Today I chose not to grouse, but instead to Look On The Brighter Side, and chirped, "Hey! Just think. That will be you next year!" as I pointed to the bus.

J was quiet for a moment. "I don't think a full day of school will be fun."

I felt my blood pressure spring upwards, and wondered what I should say. Instead of flogging her with overly optimistic platitudes, I tried, "Why do you think that?"

"Because you don't get to see your Mommy all day."

DAMN.

Letting go

Two years ago tonight I was struggling with the culmination of events that began in 1996. I know I wasn't instrumental in bringing it all smoothly to closure - that was my brother's role. But I still went through it all, myself. I am still dealing with it.

When we realized my father had Alzheimer's, it was a devastating revelation that took years to play out. But at least there was an end point. It was a knowable quantity. I could research and read. I could prepare myself for the ultimate outcome. I was relieved when it finally arrived, though the journey took a terrible toll. That was November of 2000.

When we realized, however, that my mother would be incapacitated by the loss of my father, we (or maybe just I) had no idea what to expect. She had denied so many things for so long, it was difficult to have a real conversation with her about it all. At least she was clear about what she did NOT want, and in the end, that was our saving grace.

When she admitted her need for full-time oxygen, and when she found a sort of housekeeper/care provider, we thought things would improve for her. But then the inexplicable pain started. And like so many other aspects of her personality, her struggles, it was hard to measure the accuracy of her descriptions. It was hard to assess how we could possibly help her manage and improve. The trips to the emergency room continued, as did the visits to specialists. She grew weaker, more exhausted. And the pain got worse.

I thought I had prepared for the worst - the one thing she did not want, the one thing she might have to face - time in a nursing facility to recover from surgery to relieve the pain that cascaded from her back down through her lower extremities. Through unspoken agreement, my brother and I set up the treatments to alleviate her immediate and acute issues, all the while hoping she would forgive us for the required intermediate steps to get her back home, where she ultimately wanted to be until she died. But we did not count on events getting out of our control.

Two years ago today, on a recovery floor in Mercy hospital, my mother apparently suffered from a post-op infection that went out of control. She had had back surgery. I had been with her two days earlier for an abbreviated visit (I had a cold coming on, and didn't want her to get sick), and saw that she was in, impossibly, even more pain than I had witnessed in the days before her surgery. She said she didn't feel well, and lied to the 'attending' about doing her recovery therapy that day. But I had chalked it up to her delicate emotional state - the fact that she was just tired of it all. My brother saw her the day following her surgery, and was with her the next morning - the 20th - with plans of my alleviating him later in the afternoon. We were in for the long haul, and expected many lengthy days at the hospital or nursing home. I was conserving my energy.

But then her fever made itself known through mild but growing hallucinations. When it spiked my mother was swiftly moved to the ICU (thanks to my sister-in-law, who finally made the staff take action). But it was too late.

The decision to let her go, ultimately, made sense, but it was a crushing decision nonetheless. I have to say, in addition to my brother's clarity and my sister-in-law's unwavering and loving presence, the thing that saved me was the nurse in charge of my mother's care. She told me to do what my mother would want, not what the doctors, the nurses, or even I would want. Two years ago tomorrow, my mother finally joined my father.

My brother and I, and our spouses, made it official the following June, when we let their remains go off together in the warm waters off Astwood Cove, Bermuda.

The trauma seems to have passed. I talk about it less, and think about more of the positive aspects of our relationship, and of her good and memory-building time with J. But it's here with me tonight. I want to mark it down to say, "I haven't forgotten you, Mom." Though this time takes me back to a place of tremendous grief, I want to stay connected somehow. I hope it makes sense...

Busy busy bee

J is in a creative frenzy. She's taping. She's snizzing (cutting with scissors). She's making pictures, folding them up, putting them in envelopes, adhering stickers and writing notes. She just made a 'picture frame' out of construction paper and taped it with a 'tape loop' on the back to the counter next to me, and is considering which photos of herself I should put in the frame. She's making a sign telling me what time her tea party is. (11:30)

Next to her, I am a slacker of the most slothful nature. She's got the PWE magic down, baby!

Snow songs

Many would say this is George Winston weather, and who can really argue. I, however, feel this is a little more Neko Case.

Date night

JBL and I hit the town last night, thanks the wonderfully wonderful Lauren, also known as The World's Best Babysitter. We tried out this awesome little hole-in-the-wall place, Peter's Inn. The atmosphere was vintage Fells Point bar, mixed with your favorite funky shop that has original art all over the walls. Oh, and the food? FANTASTIC. If you like steak, mussels, homemade soups and big fat slabs of garlic bread. Not the common presentation, either.

Ok, enough gushing. Just give the place a try already.

And you questioned the facial tic

There are many aspects of motherhood that feel unnatural to me to this day. Well, maybe unnatural is too strong a sentiment. Not tremendously intuitive? Less pleasurable than it seems to be for most other mothers I know?

In any event. When it comes to coordinating play dates, for instance, social awkwardness combined with mild germophobia tend to get in the way. I'm working on these issues, as I know I need to get J together more often with her friends. But something like listening to kids' music in the car with them? Sorry, that's just never going to happen.

And there are certain mundane things that wear on me. Because I'm home I am tasked with everyday chores like cleaning and going to the grocery store (though I did both when I worked outside the home, too). I don't have a problem with this division of labor - it makes sense for me to play the support role. It's just that after a while this role can feel rather unimportant in the Grand Scheme of Things. How is dusting the dining room table adding value to the world in any way, shape or form right now? How many times can I stroll through the doors of the Safeway and ponder what to make for dinner over the coming week and still remember what I learned in pricing theory class?

In fact I do remember, and I get a chuckle frequently as I fill my basket with lemons marked 3 for $2. Who came up with that? I'll show 'em. I'll buy 4 just to mess with the cashier (insert maniacal laugh here). And it's during times like these that I look around at the other women pushing carts front-loaded with screaming toddlers, women wearing sweatpants and baggage under their eyes, and think to myself, 'Am I the only one who feels like my sanity is slowly dripping out of my ears?'

Nothing makes me feel more William Foster than the music I have to endure while shopping. Speaking of enduring painful things, anyone who knows me has heard this complaint before, and I apologize to you as I'm typing this. But seriously. I walked through The Dollar Tree this morning while waiting for J to finish school, and while contemplating theme decorations for J's upcoming birthday party I had to listen to Journey's Lovin' Touchin' Squeezin', followed strangely by John Denver's Country Roads. I swear to GOD.

A woman stood not far from me with a cart full of dollar-licious items, and sang along with Steve Perry, a nostalgic smile tugging at her lips. Now why can't I be like that? Happy in the moment. Remembering all the happy times...perhaps the Sadie Hawkins dance in 8th grade? That first really bitchin' perm that made me look like Linda Ronstadt?

Unfortunately these songs, and sometimes the little trappings of my life, make me want to run screaming for the hills. I can only hope I am not alone in this surreal world of motherhood - and judging by the intelligence, wit, and general fabulousness of many of my mom-friends - others will appreciate my need to note the Worst Grocery Song of the Day.

5. Moonlight Feels Right - Starbuck
4. Just a Gigolo - David Lee Roth
3. The Longest Time - Billy Joel (sorry Lisa)
2. ANYTHING by Phil Collins (this, or heaven help us, this)
1. Silly Love Songs - Wings

It's a new list we could add to or switch up regularly for a chuckle and a euphamistic nod of understanding. What's the worst song you've had to endure lately? You know, when you were in WalMart last week, or waiting in the pediatrician's office?

core

Just finished this. I'm going to be so sore tomorrow...

UPDATE: I'm not sore at all. That's kind of disappointing after a brand new 30 minute ab routine.

...

Bottom of the year

I think I've acclimated to winter. You know that feeling - you walk outside on a day where the high temperature is 35, and you think, "Wow, with no breeze, it actually feels pretty good out here." I mean, it's not like we're in Chicago, where it's -1, with blowing snow. Running outside is easy if you layer properly.

At the same time, I realize I'm about 60% of the person I am during the other seasons of the year. Seasons when you willingly spend time outside. There are no gardens to tend. No scents and colors to revel in. I am more still, more introspective.

I wouldn't jump right in and say I have seasonal affect disorder (you know they came up with that acronym on purpose), but who can argue that the fairly monochromatic palette of winter is not a downer on some level? I mean, we're driving out to the bus stop at 4:30pm to pick up K, and J comments that it is 'evening'. That's the kind of thing she just says. "Mom, it's evening, isn't it?" Girlfriend's mind is always churning. Anyway. My immediate thought is that this time would be considered afternoon several months from now. I could be out running the neighborhood with the sun high in the sky. I could walk out to the mailbox in shorts, t-shirt, and flip-flops, and sigh with delight at the temperature.

However, I can take pleasure in the quiet nature of our January surroundings. The trees truly seem to sleep, oblivious to the bluster and diffidence of the weather. The birds hunker down and carefully take in their surroundings, nests exposed. Many is the morning I contemplate hawks perched on telephone wires as they consider adjacent meadows, searching for mice and other vermin as gray and brown as the surrounding grasses. The low, slate and leaden clouds lay like a blanket over the sky.

The season pulls at the melancholy that is at the very core of me, and it is somehow comforting. I spend extra time snuggling under the covers when J first comes into my room each morning, silently climbing up into my bed and curling into me without a word, a request for invitation. I sit fairly motionless and watch as the birds swoop up and attempt to balance on the 'feeder' J made in school - a mini bagel pressed with bird seed, hanging from the deck railing, tied with blue yarn. I make an excuse for festivity, lighting a fire before dinner because the girls love a picnic on the floor in front of its warmth.

This settling and succumbing will turn to boredom, and finally, dissatisfaction, I'm sure. And it will be a long climb before the weather is ready to turn again to the season of awakening and rebirth. But for now I am content. Without the barrier of foliage, it is easy to hear the trains rumble through the valley some four miles away. Sometimes winds roar across the fields and taunt the trees who have already let go of all their leaves. But for now, all is quiet and still. My home is warm and the girls are sleeping. I am at peace.

Slow day

I wasn't expecting work to be so hectic today, or to come in such dribs and drabs. It's nice to sit though, and J is actually napping today.

Originally I thought she'd be peppy, since she had a big nap yesterday (sleeping off the aftereffects of the Ravens party on Saturday night, no doubt). But she woke up pale, and came home pale from school. Usually lunch perks her up, but then afterward, as we worked on a sticker mosaic together, she complained of feeling shaky.

This is not a common complaint, and I felt a tinge of alarm. I know it's ridiculous, considering how seldom she has been sick over her life, and considering how sick one of my neighbor's kids is right now. But the way she put it made me nervous.

"You know how G is shaky?"

G is my littlest niece, and she has epilepsy. Her first seizures became evident at four. I suppose I have always been watching for symptoms in J - it was a disease my mother had, so it is certainly a possibility. Rationally, I know J was referring to normal shaky-hands shaky, but I paused and looked deeply into her eyes.

No, I thought, she's just tired. Maybe a cold. Maybe a growth spurt. But I will keep an eye on her nonetheless.

I'm watching her sleep over the monitor. May she always be so peaceful...

Conversation over grilled cheese

"Do you think I'm crazy for wanting to dunk a strawberry into ranch dressing?"

"No."

"But you think it's yucky."

"Well, I wouldn't want to eat it, but I don't think you're crazy. I know you love ranch dressing."

"You DO think I'm crazy."

"Crazy. I'm crazy for feelin'...so lonely..."

"Now you're laughing at me."

"You're a little young to be paranoid, don't you think?"

"Well, YOU'RE still very young."

"See, that's why I love you."

Color me green

My friend from Chicago just emailed me that he and the Mrs. will likely be going to Bermuda this summer for a family reunion. I'm happy as all get-out for them, but just a bit envious. Not only is Bermuda my favorite place on the planet (note my profile photo), but there is a chance that we might not go on vacation this summer.

In the interest of full disclosure, I'll tell you that we are going on a winter long-weekend visit to Charleston, South Carolina, so I'm not that bad off.

But still.

I enjoyed listing out places to stay and things to do for my friend. So if you have any interest in seeing Bermuda, let me know and I can point you in several good directions.

Perk up

This weather has 'nap' written all over it. I never appreciated how wonderful naps were until I had J, and experienced sleep deprivation for the first time. I have finely honed the skill, and since sleeping-in on weekends will not be an option again for another 14 years or so, the occasional nap helps me stay productive and healthy.

Today, however, a nap is not in the cards. It is a work day. J does not nap reliably any more. I am a responsible adult.

What I must do instead is look for something to help me perk up. But what? I've never been an afternoon coffee or tea drinker, and caffeine rarely affects me. In fact, warm drinks tend to make me sleepy. I can't go sit outside for some fresh air to clear my head. It's freaking 35 degrees and raining, for crying out loud.

Once I get some work stuff done, the obvious answer is exercise. Today is Wednesday, and that means tempo run day. I have been doing a regular pace now for a while, so clearly I need to kick it up the proverbial notch. Not being in training mode, I am wont to ease up on the challenges. But I need to remember how disappointing my first few long runs of spring were last year (road running is so much harder on one than treadmill running, after all). I had made exactly zero improvement in my pace between October and April though I felt like I had put forth significant effort over the winter months.

There is another good reason to push myself a little now: Lets talk about something unpleasant. As I age, I expect to wrinkle around the eyes and mouth. I expect that my freckles will connect and cover almost my entire person. I expect gray hair. But given my fondness for regular exercise, I never expected BACK FAT. Yes, I have noticed the mushroom-top effect over my jeans of late, but last night after putting on some running pants I caught sight of myself from the back and was shocked to discover this effect, well, on the back part of my waist. I don't know why this was so horrifying, but the image is burned in my mind. Ick.

So onto to the treadmill I shall hop, adding 'hills' along the way. It will not be anywhere near as much fun as a nap, but it will perk me up, and maybe I can buy a little time in my 30-something body.

Multi-tasking

J is setting up an elaborate scenario for us to play out when I take a break from working. I have bought myself at least 20 minutes of work time by saying, "OK!" every time J says something starting with, "Pretend..." I have said it about 100 times already this morning.

Word of the Day

Pulchritude.

For no reason. Say it - it's fun.

On an unrelated note, we heard an old X song on the way to school today. I was happy to introduce J to the concept of punk. She's such a rock 'n roll girl anyway.

Embarrassment of riches

Yesterday JBL and I finally cleaned out the remnants of Christmas from the house. It always makes me sad, as I think the rooms look so plain and lonely without the decorations. Or maybe I'm just plain and lonely without the Christmas season. In any event, it's a let-down, and I was determined to keep my perspective, and keep from dragging the family down with me. Only to fail miserably.

We started the day with a big waffle breakfast, then the denuding of the family room began. To keep J from breaking the more fragile decorations, and from making more of a mess than already existed, I gave her some reading practice whenever she hopped in with 'nothing to do'. (The purple Disney princess hippety-hop is still the clear gift winner from Santa. What 'princesses' have to do with a rubber ball you bounce on, I have no idea.) Now that she has the basic rules of phonics down, we have been working on letter combinations that make the same sounds as long vowels (ai, ay for the long a, or igh for the long i, etc.). I found myself snapping at her lack of attention. After all, she is smart enough to figure any of these letter combinations out if she would just LOOK at the page I'd made up for her, so clearly drawn out and explained. But, no, she would rather try to sound out the words in a sing-song voice while writhing on the big yellow chair and picking at her toe nails.

Even as I write that, I'm chagrined. Why am I such a hard ass all the time? Why is it so easy in retrospect to say, "She's FOUR for crying out loud."? Here we have yet another example of me squeezing the life out of the room by trying in vain to mold everyone's behavior with sheer force of will. At least I had the wherewithal to recognize my neurotic behavior, and did the best thing for everyone: As soon as I could, I left the house for a long run.

So after a leisurely cleaning session, a frustrating phonics lesson, and a light lunch (set against the minor-key backdrop of Faithless Street), I was able to put my Nike's to the pavement. I set out up the hill and out of the neighborhood, north onto 94. By the one mile mark I was feeling as I always do - weighed down and breathless, with thoughts of what was behind me still buzzing in my mind. The miracle tends to happen between miles 2 and 3, and yesterday was no exception.

Cars sped past, but my eyes swept slowly over the pastures and farmland on either side me. I imagined I was in the south of France, or in Wales. My mind drifted over the small houses crouched close to the road and I imagined the old couples that must be inside, perhaps watching TV in side-by-side easy chairs in a paneled den. The music pouring through my headphones turned my moods like those of the roller girl in Skateaway.

Should I turn around at mile 4? Nope, not today. I turned east on 26 and headed for the funeral home, also known as my 5 mile turnaround. Chapel Stile was the soundtrack for a hawk flapping vigorously in place about 40 feet above the ground, then diving to pounce on something hidden in a meadow across from the fire station. I spilled chily water over myself, not pausing to drink and walk.

By mile 8, Greg Dulli was urging me on, and I took flight. "This ain't about regret. It's when I tell the truth." That guy makes me so uneasy, but I find him so darkly attractive - even now in the more subdued Twilight Singers... anyway. I coasted down mile 10 to home, a better and calmer person.

As always, running saved me, and saved the day. Smiles were back. I was greeted at the door with crafts and laughter, no one the worse for wear. I really ought to be like Veronica, and run early before everyone even wakes up. If only I could be that much of a morning person. The rest of the day was calm and easy, even without the holiday trappings. Sometimes I feel overly fortunate, but then again, I will probably be paying for several rounds of the kids' therapy sessions a decade or so from now.

On winter and death

I suppose this post is a kind of add-on to my recent ruminations on watching. Winter is an obvious and natural metaphor for death. It can be difficult to get through this darkest time of year, and to think of coming out on the inevitable Other Side. How can we make it through this cold time, this lack of daylight, this frozen emptiness? I am inspired by my most recent read, the amazing Pilgrim at Tinker Creek:

'Now the twin leaves of the seedling chestnut oak on the Carvin's Cove path have dried, dropped, and blown; the acorn itself shrunk and sere. But the sheath of the stem holds water and the white root still delicately sucks, porous and permeable, mute. The death of the self of which the great writers speak is no violent act. It is merely the joining of the great rock heart of the earth in its roll. It is merely the slow cessation of the will's sprints and the intellect's chatter: it is waiting like a hollow bell with stilled tongue. Fuge, tace, quiesce. The waiting itself is the thing.'

Shhhh...the days are now growing longer. What do you make of this waiting? Are you afraid?

Time out of time

New Year's eve was going to be a festive blur for me. One more celebration, not even the capstone, in my holiday season full of occasions which began more than a month ago. Originally we were slated to go to a neighbor's for a kid-friendly party, and that would have been great. These neighbors are much more like family than friends, so we were very much looking forward to the evening with them.

But then there was the wind. I've never heard such gusts - not even during the hurricane that hit the year I was pregnant. And before lunchtime the power went out. It rarely goes out for more than a few hours, so I wasn't worried, even on this cold day. Little did we know it would be out well into the evening.

At first I was irritated that I had to step away from my computer, that I would have to delay my tempo run on the treadmill. Why couldn't this have happened last week when the temperatures were unseasonably warm? Thankfully, we settled into a cozy afternoon as the sunlight poured into the windows all along the south-facing back of the house and into the family room. As the hours passed, the lack of ambient noise seemed less unsettling, and the prospect of postponing the night's party less troubling. JBL and the girls played Scrabble. I (finally) got the laundry folded.

By 4, it was clear our evening plans were scuttled as the light faded in the house and the huge rooms began to chill precipitously. I felt uncharacteristically calm as I scoured the house for candles. This change in scheduled events had temporarily unplugged the buzzing in my brain and tightness in my chest, and I paused.

It occurred to me that I had really absorbed things about the girls this afternoon in ways I hadn't previously this season. Oh, I'd smiled as I juggled winter activities, work, school, holiday preparations, but in a way I was floating above it all rather than living down in the fray. On this last day of the year, I realized K has acquired an adult sense of humor, adding to her already substantial repertoire of charms. I realized that J can sing many Christmas carols on key, and can hum most of the Nutcracker Suite. I realized that my family is happy and enjoying the season as I had hoped but hadn't grasped as I planned, organized and executed.

J skipped circles around me as I positioned candles throughout the kitchen and family room, her new Little Tikes pig flashlight singing out merrily, "Oink oink oink oink OINK!" as she chattered ceaselessly about my progress. JBL lit a roaring fire in the fireplace. The aforementioned [fabulous] neighbors dropped pizza off that they'd picked up from town. By the time we settled down onto our picnic blanket by the fire and darkened Christmas tree, the room sparkled and glittered warmly. I talked about all the noteworthy, happy events for us in 2008, which were numerous. The wine (and ginger ale) flowed, music played softly out of JBL's portable iPod speaker, and laughter floated through the room.

We were toasting mini marshmellows over the fire when the Christmas tree lights flickered, and then lit brightly. I heard the heat kick on, and saw the Tivo and Squeezebox come back to life in the entertainment cabinet. While we were all delighted at the prospect of power back to warm the house while we slept, and to allow full and free use of the bathrooms, there was almost a sigh of disappointment. J turned abruptly to me and asked, "Can we still keep having fun, Momma?"

And we did. Just as I have related in the past, gifts such as this New Year's Eve without power come at unexpected times. They come when we don't even know we need them. We are shown without asking that all the love and joy we need are here for the taking. And I am grateful.

Happy New Year!