Wednesday, December 31, 2014

You've Got Voicemail

Apparently some people don't like receiving voicemail. They don't like having to take the time to listen to it, the time to find out what is needed, wanted or expressed, and the main irritant is the notification. That someone had something to say to you, with words, from their mouth, instead of an email, Facebook message, tweet or text, is not first to mind. The sole objective is to get rid of the accursed notification.

I had never looked at them as such an inconvenience. I always loved coming home and seeing someone had called and left a message, letting me know I was thought of. That's the kind of messages I leave. Yes, they might ramble. Okay, not so much might. A sort of exercise in free form messaging. Just my way of telling you how much you mean to me, right in that moment, before I don't get another chance. Because who knows? Long ago, in the 1900's we used to send letters and cards in the mail. That might happen once a year or twice if you have loving and older family that send Birthday cards. Now, people don't even want messages on their phones. Maybe I should just write it all in blogs.


Thursday, December 18, 2014

With Care

I believed in Santa Claus until I was thirteen. This was a collaborative effort in part of what seems to be my female version of the Peter Pan syndrome, our family's yearly Strong Family Christmas Party and my Mother's dedication to preserving magic in the purest form, love.

I knew that the Santas at the Mall weren't real. They were his helpers, duh. I asked all the usual questions kids ask about the improbabilities, the incongruities and down right impossibilities. But the truth is, even as I grew older, and my friends told me there for sure was no Jolly Fat Man that circumnavigated the entire world in one night and gave presents to EVERY CHILD (we won't get into the chimney discussion see The Muppets Christmas Special for that) I knew he was real because every year I met him. The real him.

At our yearly Strong Family Christmas Party (or The Santa Party) the four Strong daughters Shirley, Joanne, Carole and Claudia, and all of their children, and their children's children, and so on, gather for a Christmas program, treats and the penultimate meeting of the Santa. I mean THE SANTA. He has a Good Book that knows things only a Santa can know. How you talk back, or how you are doing so much better in Social Studies this year (remember Social Studies?) He knows that you missed a lot of school because you were so sick and he wants you to listen to Mom and Dad and take care of yourself, he knows you have a brother and step-sister and you love them even if you fight with them. He knows about you and he is kind and you can see your name in his Giant Red Book as you sit on his knee. You watch it happen for all of the other kids at the party and he sings and dances and tells jokes too. He is a giant red wondrous ball of joy and he's real and he's right in front of you.

So what if one Christmas Eve I hear my parents giggling in the hallway TRYING to be quiet (but making it so much worse) as they attempt to put together a huge cardboard playhouse for Todd before my brother and I wake up at the crack of dawn and it was supposed to be from Santa? I still believed in Santa. So what if THE ONLY TIME Todd and I snuck and looked for our Christmas presents, it was the one thing I wanted the most in the whole wide world, a Cabbage Patch Doll, and it came from Santa on Christmas morning all displayed in my baby rocking chair and baby blanket? I still believed.

I finally found out, officially, when I was looking up a phone number in my Mom's little blue phone book. My mother has the most beautiful penmanship so the entire phone book was filled with her hand. I don't even remember what number I needed but as I was scrolling through then all of a sudden there it was, SANTA printed out with an 801 area code. My mother never uses print, and Santa's cards always had a different writing on them. I didn't feel duped, or stupid. I didn't feel lied to. I felt loved and protected. I felt adored. I still do.

I still believe in Santa. My Santa is the magic warm glow that fills me up when I am with my Family, Friends and Furry Fuzzies. I can't wait for Santa to visit this year.

Friday, December 12, 2014

With Relish

I'm sitting in my Urologist's office today and he walks in, kicks the bottom of my boot, grins and asks "What's the word?"

Me - "Grease. Grease is the word, is the word that you heard. It's got groove it's got meaning. Grease is the time, is the place is the motion. Grease is the way we are feeling."

Doc - "Huh?"

Me - "You asked for the word. I gave it to you. Grease is the word."

His nurse is typing, and silently laughing. She pipes up "From the movie. You know, Greased Lightning?"

Doc - Fully serious and not at all exasperated,"Ah, I don't watch many movies. I slept on the couch last night. Watched Napoleon Dynamite again. That's about all I know for movies."

Thus began my appointment.

Wop baba lumop a wap bam boom.

The Bun

The Bun
If you don't like rabbits, you can suck it, shove it and then go soak your head.