Moving On . . . .

I apologize for not writing anything so far this year. I had considered doing an item regarding New Year’s Resolutions, but that is so old hat, and besides, part of me has always rebelled at making them. Never mind the fact that most resolutions are very short-lived. I have always felt that changing my life for the better need not rely on the calendar for an action plan.

I have also held back due to my personal situation, because I have not wanted it to spill over onto my blog, but life has a way of being messy. My friends already know I was diagnosed with a second incidence of breast cancer last November, and since then I’ve been through surgery and am in the midst of treatment, so I haven’t felt compelled to write much more than I have in the journal I keep. Thank God, and the fact that I religiously get annual mammograms and check-ups, because I have an excellent prognosis coming out of this. All the same, it’s scary when your body betrays you—and that’s exactly how it feels. Most of us don't think about the possibility of dying on a daily basis--I sure don't! Life takes on so much more significance, however, when you realize that any given moment could be your last. The smallest things take on new meaning, and you develop a gratitude for life that you never had before. You stop putting off what is truly important to you. You do things NOW, because next year might not roll around for another chance or a do-over. You stop worrying about what other people think, and you tell them that you love them--that they are important to you, and they have made a difference in your life.

Instead, I wanted to write about all the hopes and plans I have for my future. My husband Sam and I have been in our house a year and a half now—long enough to have some goals and still be realistic about what we can accomplish here. The economy hasn’t directly affected us, in the way it has so many—we have good jobs and aren’t in danger of losing them—but we’ve scaled back on what we considered doing a year ago. Then too, there will be no more credit card purchases. No, we won’t have to buy materials for the raised beds one board at a time, but you get the picture. The lean-to greenhouse is on hold until there is money in savings to pay for it, and we probably won’t put a fountain in the front yard now. We are thinking of coverting part of the house into a mother-in-law apartment down the line, too. If we have to stay here when we retire, we will want extra income, or perhaps live-in help, so that makes sense. Hopefully we will be able to sell this house in ten more years and get a decent return, so we can move to Eastern Oregon as planned, but right now all bets are off.

Sam and I hope to do some travelling this year, though my health situation has complicated that, simply because I won't be going anywhere until my treatment is over. Last year we had to cancel every trip we planned but one, due to the exorbitant cost of gasoline. I STILL want to make those trips: one, a road trip through Southern Oregon in the Miata, because I've never been there; and trips to Yellowstone, and the Southwest (Grand Canyon and Monument Valley). One day I hope to make trips to Teotihuacan in Mexico, and if I'm still up for it, to Machu Pichu in Peru. There are many other places I'd love to see one day, but these are the most immediate for me. The Great Pyramid of Giza and the Parthenon in Athens are at the top of that list. There are lots of places I don't need to go also: Las Vegas and Reno, for example. I would very much like to visit Washington D.C. but I've already been to New York City and seen the Statue of Liberty, albeit as a kid. It all depends on money, of course, and having the time to do it all.

This year my goal is to be fit enough and ready to go horse-packing in Eagle Cap Wilderness in September with Sam again. I've requested enough time off this year to make a decent excursion of it (and finally make it to Mirror Lake) and go early enough so I won't be freezing my tushie off at night. My niece Chelsea's husband Chris has generously put his little gray mountain horse, Gray Gelding, at my disposal for the trip, and I am so excited I can hardly sit still. Horse-packing is something I've wanted to do all my life--and not because I'm unable to get up there any other way. If you know me, you are aware of how much I love horses and value their company. No, I want to take a horse up there so I can have a horse to share it with! Gray Gelding is going to have to have a name though. I guess that duty will fall to me, and I am honored that Chris would even consider letting me use his own horse. That is trust in the purest sense, because Chris rescued Gray Gelding from an abusive owner a few years back. GG reminds me of my little Arab mare Hadarah in many ways, but I know this will be a new experience for both of us--one I shall treasure for certain. I think he will too.

A Short Christmas Story

This year my office decided to have an ornament exchange to celebrate the Holidays, and I was inspired to write the following while wrapping my contribution. I hope you enjoy it:

There once was a little round glob of glass that lived in the scrap bin at a glassblower’s studio. It wasn’t lonely—it had lots of company, but it was depressed and downcast, because it had wanted more out of life than to just take up space.

One day, the glassblower was commissioned by the city where he lived to fashion some very special ornaments for a tree that would stand in the county courthouse over the Christmas holidays. He was overjoyed at this prospect, because not only would it bring him a handsome and much-needed commission, but it would give him a special opportunity to show what he could do, perhaps bring more work his direction, and let him show his own devotion in a way that was truly unique.

He decided to use only the glass fragments in his scrap bin to symbolize how God is able to use whatever is available to achieve His ends, even the most fragmented and downtrodden. Thus inspired, the glassblower went to work using the utmost of his talents to create glass ornaments that would do justice to the season, the tree, and himself.

The tree was decorated, and it was indeed glorious to behold. People came from all the nearby towns and counties to see it, because the word had gotten out that it was wonderful, and before the end of the season it had gained a fair measure of fame. When it was time, the tree was taken down and the decorations packed away, and everyone thought how wonderful it would be to enjoy them again the following year, but when the time came to retrieve the tree trimmings from storage--they had disappeared! The townsfolk looked high and low, but nowhere could these beautiful glass ornaments be found.

Rumor had it that the glassblower himself had taken them and secretly sent them as gifts to other cities to bless and inspire them by his work. Occasionally, someone would think they had seen one, but the little town itself never saw them again. It was said that every year each glass ball was passed on to yet another town, or even to deserving individuals, to bless them in turn.

And so it came about that the little round glob of glass was able to achieve its heart’s desire: to amount to something beautiful and make a difference in the lives of others. Who knows, maybe it’s even the one you got this year!

Merry Christmas!

Christmas--Bah, Humbug?

Considering the pain our nation and the world are enduring at this moment, I reflected for a while this morning on the fact that our current economic woes may actually be blessings in disguise. I cannot minimize the suffering individuals and their families are experiencing right now, or the fact that this economic crisis has had far-reaching consequences that few of us might have anticipated one year ago. I doubt that there is a single person whose life is untouched, so each of us must be more compassionate than usual and try to find ways to help. How many of us have bemoaned the fact that Christmas in particular and holidays in general had disintegrated into little more than over-commercialized expressions of greed? How many have longed to return to simpler times when, in the case of Christmas, what we celebrated was the birth of the Messiah and what that represented?

I don’t know how other people feel about the advertisements running on TV right now, but most of them seem very out of touch. I’m sure for some, it’s “business as usual,” and I know retailers depend on Christmas sales for a majority of their yearly income, but I doubt many of us are going to run out and buy a brand-new BMW or Mercedes right now. I heard a newscast last week on TV saying that the American sales fleet told Mercedes not to send any more cars, because there were loads of them sitting on the docks unsold. No, the possibility of buying a new car or plasma TV seems remote if you just lost your job, you’re wondering if you’ll have a job next week, or you’re just trying to feed your family and keep a roof over their heads!

I remember when Christmas, at least in my family, meant making the presents you intended to give, spending time with family and loved ones, and yes—attending Church. It wasn’t about giving expensive gifts or the latest technological fad. It wasn’t about buying new party dresses and going out. You didn’t give people money for Christmas so they could go and buy what they wanted—you spent time giving of your own industry and thoughtfulness. And, you appreciated and were grateful for what you received, no matter how quaint or ill-conceived the gift might be, because that person took the time to care about you. Granted, it is so much easier to just drop a check in the mail or buy a gift card, but it’s also lazy. Who needs to take time to figure out what the person might like? Who even cares to bother? My friends know how I like iTunes, but I don’t want to get a gift card for Christmas unless it’s from my employer or someone who lives thousands of miles away. This year, I’m giving mostly what I call “cards and cookies.” I’ve made a few crocheted and knitted items for the really special folks. I still have no idea what to give my husband, however, though finishing a sweater I started years ago or making him a new robe would be good.

I never dreamed I would ever see so many friends and family members facing economic hardship. I never thought scenes from Dickens would become a daily reality, but when you work in health care as I do, you see it every day: the homeless, whose most immediate need is a meal and a warm, dry bed for the night; those who drown their troubles in alcohol or drugs; or the desperate who want to end the pain, or at least make a cry for help. I can thank God, Providence, or my lucky stars that I’m not in those circumstances myself, but I’ve come to realize that I AM in the boat with these people, and that if I can’t find compassion in my heart and make some attempts at helping, then I’m not much of a human being. Sometimes it takes being creative to find the right way to make a difference, but if each person could reach out and do one thing, it WOULD make a difference. Some people might say that what’s happening now is just the “chickens coming home to roost”—and that may be true, but I’d like to think that all of us have an opportunity to become more than we’ve been and BE better people.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

It’s that time again. You know, when everyone’s hoping it might snow, and trying to figure out what to do for Christmas THIS time around. I’ve been pre-occupied with other things this past month, but turning my attention to something else is far overdue. It’s time to start writing out a few cards and letters and trying to decide what gifts I plan to buy, so considering there are only about 20 more days to go, I’d better get with it!

I have always loved Christmas. People say Christmas is for kids, but I never grew up, did you? I guess part of it is that I love giving gifts, no matter what time of year. I love the bustle of shopping, decorating the house, baking special treats, and wrapping beautiful packages—never mind that they will be ripped to shreds and destroyed in a moment—that’s part of the fun.

Christmas was always at my Grandma Rose’s house when I was a kid. That was partly due to the fact that my Mom and Dad and I lived there too, until I was about five years old and we moved into our own house. In later years we had a tree and opened presents on Christmas morning at home, but to me, Christmas didn’t really start until we got to Grandma’s house. Dinner was always there, regardless.

I was the only child, as well as the first and only grandchild, for quite a few years growing up, so my expectations were naturally somewhat skewed. I can remember a Christmas when I was probably about two years old, when it looked as though there were about a thousand presents under the tree, and most of them ended up being for me. That was all right! I’ve always loved receiving gifts too—but still, nothing makes me happier than watching someone open a package that I’ve prepared just for them.

Our family developed a few of its own traditions through the years. The type of tree and how it was decorated, decorations in and around the house, what kinds of sweets Grandma and I baked to serve or give away, and what would be on the table Christmas Day: all these things took on their own special significance. I nearly always baked with Grandma, rather than my Mom, but that was because Grandma let me cook at her house, and she’s the one who actually taught me. Mom baked sugar and candy cane cookies, but that was about it. Grandma taught me how to make peanut brittle the old-fashioned way, and to make fruitcake. One year I made goat milk fudge. I even learned how to make and put together gingerbread houses at Grandma’s, so those became part of our Christmas tradition, too.

Grandma would usually let me decorate her tree for her, and she never went out and selected her own, but someone in the family would always bring her one and put it on a stand. My Mom decorated our tree, and she would select it in the summertime while she was out in the woods. Mom preferred blue spruce trees with all blue lights, but Grandma’s was generally a fir and was covered with all different-colored lights. We never had white lights on our tree back then, and I never saw trees with all white lights until we moved to Seattle.

Normally there were huge gobs of tinsel on the tree, and as many different shiny glass and metal ornaments as we could get on it. We’ve had many ornaments through the years, but I like to decorate with special ornaments. Each year I buy one special ornament to represent that year, or we will receive an especially nice one as a gift.

One year I bought a lighted capiz shell star to put on top. Grandma’s tree had a star for a topper for a while, but one year she bought one of those pointy ornament-type toppers that is supposed to look like a star. Mom had an angel that went on top of ours. The angel was a printed picture on cardboard, but she had real platinum blonde hair and wings made of white feathers glued onto it. It was very beautiful, and we enjoyed it for many years, but one year Mom stored the Christmas ornament boxes in one end of the horses’ metal feed shed, and one of them dragged the boxes down to see what was inside. The horse was just being curious, of course, but the angel ended up being trampled in the muck, and I was so upset I cried. Christmas was never the same without it, and it was almost as though someone I loved had died.

We didn’t have a fireplace when I was growing up, and there were no mantle decorations, so it was always a toss-up where to hang our stockings. Mom would put an orange in the bottom, along with handfuls of candies and nuts. We didn’t have “stocking stuffer” gifts, since Santa supposedly filled the stockings while we were asleep, but somehow I always knew it was Mom. Now that we have a fireplace, Sam, Roxi (our German Shepherd dog), Hadarah (my horse), and I can hang our stockings on little brass hooks set in place by the previous owners. Sam’s stocking has a picture of a teddy bear on it, and mine has a rocking horse. Roxi and Hadarah just have red fuzzy stockings topped with white fur, but they don’t care. I think Roxi’s will have a nice, yummy bone and lots of dog treats, but I don’t know what to put in Sam’s stocking yet. Hadarah’s will have some apples, carrots and a bag of horse cookies. Hmm, am I Santa? At our house, probably I am.

This will be the second Christmas Sam and I spend in our house. It’s odd to think back on traditions and decorations brought from both our families and over the years we’ve been together. Now we’re trying to decide what fits us, here and now. I’ve always wanted outdoor lights, but Sam doesn’t want to put them up. We don’t have children or loads of friends or church members that we expect to drop by, and all our family members live a long way from here. We’ll spoil the dog, and I do hope we can have a small get-together with our friends, but Christmas nowadays is rather Spartan compared to when we grew up. Most of us will have to work at least part of the Holidays, and all of us have to watch our waistlines.

I plan to start getting into the right spirit tonight by watching a few of my favorite Christmas movies on DVD, having a couple of Irish coffees, and making up a Christmas carol playlist for my iPod that I can share with my co-workers. Maybe tomorrow I’ll start on the card writing and make a few cookies while I’m at it. It sounds like fun to me!

Being Blonde

A blonde joke came in my E-mail today, and it made me chuckle. They usually do, because they ARE funny, even if also insulting, like Polish jokes. For once it wasn’t the usual fare illustrating how obviously brainless blondes are to the non-blonde world. This time the blonde got the last laugh, and my thought as I finished reading was, “Revenge!”

Being blonde, or more correctly stated “having hair the color of blonde,” is quite an experience and not for the squeamish. I can speak with some authority on this, having been blonde now for about 15 years and in some degrees of blondeness for several years before that, so let me say that if you’ve never been, you have no idea what it’s like.

People have asked why I did it, and there were several things that influenced me. My favorite aunt Barbara was a blonde as long as I can remember, and she was a beautiful woman with good taste and class. I suppose part of me wanted to emulate her. Since I was not a redhead like my Dad and younger sister, I favored having a bit of blonde in my light brown hair to perk it up. It began with sun streaks (remember Sun In?), progressed to highlighting, then to frosting, and finally to going all the way. I might not have done it, except that the bleach used to frost my hair turned it into lifeless straw—and then there was that “going gray” thing. My hairdresser Garry assured me that he could use a much gentler bleach on my whole head than he did with the frosting, so I thought, “Why not?” After all, I could always retreat to brown hair again.

That first bleach job was an experience I won’t forget. It took all day, and try as he might, Garry could not get the color to stay in my hair. I finally ended up going home with a bright brassy do, a can of spray tint, and his promise to contact the company to see what to do about this problem. I was not happy at all with how it turned out, and for the first time in my life, I cried over my hair. Thank God Garry called me the next day and arranged an appointment to fix it, because I was heartbroken with how it had gone.

I should tell you that I was not one to dye my hair all shades of the rainbow when I was younger. I never especially disliked my hair color, and it was not a nondescript mousy brown. About all I had done before this blonde progression was use a little blonde rinse on my hair. I had the skin coloring to go red if I’d desired, but I never wanted to be a redhead, nor had I wished to be a brunette like my Mom. No way!

So Garry fixed my hair, and I’ve been platinum blonde ever since. I loved the color, as did Sam my husband, but I was totally unprepared for the reactions I got from men I’d known for years as well as from complete strangers. To be honest, it scared me to death to have men I worked next to suddenly freak out and say things such as, “Wow Dianne, you are totally hot!” Excuse me? Nothing had changed but the hair! The clothes were the same. The make-up and perfume were the same. As far as I could tell, I acted the same, so why all the commotion? Then there were the total strangers who would come up and start conversations out of the blue while I was minding my own business. The world was turned on its head, and suddenly there was no place to hide. I mean, I couldn’t push a shopping cart through Safeway without having at least one stranger ask me how to select vegetables or go to a celebration at work without being engaged in conversation by a man I didn’t know. I guess if I’d been looking for someone, it might have been great, but I wasn’t and it was not. I seriously considered going back to my old color, but I didn’t want to—I loved the new one, so I had to learn how to steer my way through the mine field that had unexpectedly opened in front of me.

Blonde jokes never used to bother me, because (after all) I was not REALLY blonde. As the years went by though, it hit me that most of the people I know think of me as a blonde, and most of them even think I’m a natural one. It wasn’t bad as long as “blonde” was equated with sexy, appealing, and attractive; but when it meant dumb and brainless, I didn’t like it! Phrases such as “having a blonde moment” are common now, and the meaning is not that the person suddenly blossomed into attractiveness. No, it’s meant to say that the person had a moment of unexplainable stupidity.

On the other hand, people have said all sorts of things about me as a blonde that I never heard with brown hair. I’ve been compared to angels and queens of cinema—believe me, that never happened to my brown-haired self! People even think you’re sexy when you’re fat—take Mae West as an example. I tell you, people (men and women alike) say and do all sorts of things they would never dream of if you had any other shade of hair, and they make assumptions that aren’t always warranted. Well, let me just say in parting, I’m the same old me that I was before and will be for many more years, God willing.

Happy Halloween Everybody!

The big day is here at last, and I’m now ready. The only thing I wasn’t able to figure out was how to make my own fangs, but I guess that’s all right.

Since my friends were all either working or taking their kids around on Halloween this year, I gave up on the notion of having a party. Such affairs don’t seem to work out as well as when we were all in college—now we’re all working and have kids to think of, so things such as parties have to take the back seat. I should say that most of us have kids—Sam and I have a dog, and the only thing with her is that she has to go in the back yard while we’re handing out treats to the little ghosts, goblins, and witches who may show up. She got a cut little bandana from the kennel when we picked her up last week that is covered with pictures of ghosts and pumpkins and says “Boo!”

I’ve got plenty of scary music to play this evening, though I will most likely be watching Rosemary’s Baby or Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein tonight, or it might be Bram Stoker’s Dracula instead. We watched The Ninth Gate last night—a movie production which grows in my estimation each time I watch it. Since Roman Polanski produced and directed both Rosemary’s Baby and The Ninth Gate, I would say he knows what he’s doing.

I hadn’t decided what to do about my costume until just today. I finally settled on being a vampire, since I had the clothes and make-up for it. I didn’t have the hem in my black crushed velvet cloak, but I solved that by pinning it up. I have a long black satin slip that works fine as my vampire shift, plus a silver cord belt, black stiletto heels, and some black crystal earrings. Wearing glasses was not going to work, though, so I put in my contacts. I applied the very palest shade of foundation make-up I owned to my face, purple eye shadow, lots of eyeliner and mascara, bright red lipstick with loads of lip gloss, and dusted a huge amount of rouge on my upper cheekbones. The hair was easy: I just fluffed it up as high and wide as I could with my fingers until it stuck out all around my head. Gee, even without the fangs I look pretty convincing!

Earlier today I carved the jack o’lantern for the front porch. I decided to put some votive candles around out front, too, since it’s been raining today and candelarias were out of the question. I wish I’d gotten some dry ice for fog, but that’s okay—it gives me something to shoot for next year.

I have a bowl full of candy by the front door, ready and waiting, so bring on the kiddies! I’m looking forward to seeing who shows up at my front door!

More Great Things about October

I felt it was only proper, since my last blog post extolled the many charming qualities of the Halloween celebration, to mention some of the other things observed during the month of October. I went to Google (my search engine of choice), typed in "October: Month of," and voila, I found Brownielocks and the Three Bears' 'Website (http://www.brownielocks.com/october.html). This Website shows an exhaustive list of things or organizations selecting October as their official month of awareness, etc. There are also weeks of things. For instance, who knew that October 6-12th was National Financial Planning Week? You'll have to excuse me for finding this much too much of a coincidence! Some of us were busy re-organizing our 401Ks, I'm sure. The rest of us either wished we could or decided the best course was to look the other way and pretend it wasn't happening for as long as possible. If you were fortunate enough to still have a roof over your head, a job, and food to set on the table after the past couple weeks, I have no doubt you're counting your blessings and hanging on--but I digress.

In my own family October has a couple anniversaries of note: my niece Chelsea was married Saturday October 18th this year, and her daughter Riley will be three years old on Halloween--perhaps the best day of the year to have a birthday, other than July 4th (which is mine). I don't know what costume Riley intends to wear this year. She may choose to be a pony, because she loves the equine set every bit as much as I do.

Most of us knew that this was National Breast Cancer Awareness Month. October is filled with all sorts of programs and events designed to raise our consciousness and money for research. Being a breast cancer survivor myself, I heartily applaud all of it and join in where I can. This year The Breast Center where I get my annual mammograms initiated a program to give out hand-made pink scarves to their patients which were made and donated by members of our community. In one week's time, they took in 250 scarves! Everyone was amazed at the tremendous outpouring of emotional support these scarves represented, and when the folks at The Center began giving them out, the women who received them cried, they were so overcome. Meanwhile many of the scarves were put on display. The Gift Shop crew had to deflect a number or offers to purchase them, but these scarves were not for sale. I made and donated one myself, and I count myself fortunate to participate in something which produces so many benefits to all involved. Right on, ladies! You go girls!

That's not all there is to October, but I HAD to mention these at the very least. Enjoy a great month to be alive!