Yeah, it's cold. . .

Everyone is talking about the cold weather; from the balmy coolness of the Florida Keys to the frigid below zero weather in our snow packed Mid-West. Fires are blazing in the hearths and hearty beef stew and spicy chili are cooking in the crock pots. Hot tea and warm cocoa are the beverages of choice; although I would prefer a warm brandy to give my interior the warm fuzzies.

I'm fortunate to live in one of those climates where we get a glimpse of all four seasons; but other than the scorching summers, none to the extreme. Oh, it's cold now; with the afternoon highs barely reaching into the 40s and the overnight lows in the teens. There's talk of snow, although a light dusting. I can't complain. I won't complain. I won't complain because I know people live in far worse winters that I have only have to visit.

One particular winter visit comes to mind. It wasn't a trip for pleasure; for the ski trips are planned expecting snow, snow and cold. For many years I worked for a Boston-based company. I telecommuted most of the time, but did have to show up in the office a few times a month. I spent a lot of time planning my schedule to try to avoid a January in Boston. It didn't always work out that way.

One January, several years ago, was one of the coldest the Boston area had seen in a long time. And, of course, I had to go for some important meetings. My colleagues warned me and told me to layer upon layer upon layer, because it was "cold". When life long Bostonians tell you it's cold, you really should believe them.

I flew up in the morning and admit that coming out of those doors at Logan Airport were a bit of a shock. "Gee," I thought, "it really is cold." I got to the office about 1 PM and schlepped my luggage and briefcase into my office and got to work. As the day began to turn into night, I was still working in my office. Occasionally, one of my colleagues would stop by for a chat and say good night. All warning me to keep bundled up when I left to go to my hotel. I worked on for awhile and decided to call it a day.

I began re-applying my layers of clothing, wrapping my scarf several times around my neck, tucking my gloves tightly to my fingers, setting my ear muffs in position and pulling my hat far down on my head. I strapped my purse across me and my briefcase on the opposite side and pulled my suitcase into the elevator.

In the lobby the night guard smiled at me and shrugged his shoulders. "Be careful out there, it's snowing again and there is a good bit of ice on the sidewalks. Great. I still had a little limp from breaking my ankle on ice the year before. He came out from behind his desk and unlocked the door for me to leave.

"NO, NO, don't make me go out there!" I only had about three blocks (long city blocks) to go to the hotel. "Do you think a cab will take me?" He smiled again, "you'll be at the hotel before I can get a cab here." I heard the door lock behind me.

"Slowly," I thought. "Go slowly and watch your step." My footsteps and the wheels of the suitcase made light crunching sounds on the snowy sidewalk on Federal Street. The street was empty. I know there were some poor souls still working in those buildings, but none to be found on the street. The snow was coming down a little heavier and was stinging my face. I stopped to readjust my scarf and pull the hood of my coat up over my head. I felt like that the little brother in the movie, The Christmas Story, so bundled up that I could barely move my arms.

My steps were still carefully taken to avoid the icy patches. I came to an alley way, and as is my habit, I looked down the alley to make sure there was no traffic coming. I couldn't see a damn thing. I was wearing my eye glasses, and having wrapped my face so carefully, my breathing was fogging my glasses. Not only could I not move my arms, I was blinded by my own breath. Another stop for a readjustment of winter garb.

I made it to the end of Federal and realized that my security pass would get me in the building across the street. I could walk through that building to the other side and come out in front of my hotel. Brilliant. I can spare myself from some icy patches and give my glasses time to unfog. It was a good idea in theory, until I had to drag my suitcase up about six, very icy steps to the revolving door. Picture a woman, laden with coats, scarfs, briefcase and purse trying to force herself and her paraphernalia through a revolving door. I was finally glad that there were no people on the street.

Upon entering I noticed the night guard smiling. He chuckled, "you aren't from Boston are you?" Very funny. I knew this guard since I use to work in that building. He let me through the shortcut in the building and apologized that he couldn't help me across the street to my hotel. "Can't leave my post, you know."

I stood outside and looked at my hotel across the frozen street. So close. But why so frozen? I stood for several minutes trying to figure out how I was going to make this short trip without falling. I held on to the parking meter for a moment and went for it. Me and the suitcase went flying across the street. I grabbed on to a parked car and somehow bounced off into another car. I made it to another parking meter and held on for dear life. Half a block more to go to the hotel entrance. I grabbed on to another parking meter, gave myself another little push and went on to the next. It was "do-si-do" with the parking meters.

When I got to the front door of the hotel, I heard applause. Three guys were standing outside the bar next to the hotel, smoking. "Excellent maneuvering," said one. "You couldn't have helped me?" I asked. "Nah," said one, "we've been drinking." "Check in and come on done and we'll buy you a drink."

Oh, I went down for that drink and learned that half the bar had been watching me do the grand alamand with the parking meters.

I left the office before dark the rest of that week. Who knew parking meters could be so useful.

"What's love got to do with it?"

"They" say "love is blind". "They" say "love hurts". "They" say "love has no bounds". Was Tina right? What does love have to do with it?

I caught a glimpse of an old love the other day and my heart sank. Old feelings and old memories came rushing back. For a moment I was saddened. And then I went to my "safe place" - intellectualizing. Love doesn't hurt; it's the illusion of love that hurts; the cracking of the facade of promises and commitments.

Intellectually I know that he was not my "forever". I knew that for the many years we spent together. But, I stayed. I use to say that I stayed because I was lazy and didn't want to have to reintroduce myself to someone else. I was too busy to start over. In reality, I was too scared to try again. Could someone else "hurt" me more? I knew how to rationalize my heartache with him. I believed I understood his behavior. I enabled him.

I pretended to demand honesty, when all the while we existed in deceit; trying to hide our true feelings. I wanted more and he wanted less. He applauded my ambition, creativity and intellect, when he really wanted me to be less complicated. I encouraged his wit, folksy conduct and spontaneity, when I really wanted him to be more sophisticated. He was a staunch Republican and I am a liberal Democrat. Is it true that opposites attract?

In every relationship there is the defining moment of attraction; the soulful connection that brings two people to intimacy. I contend that we spend the rest of the relationship trying to relive that very moment. Some of us are successful in doing so and others, not so much.

I remember being ever so frustrated by a boyfriend's behavior. I went to my father and explained the circumstances and asked "why?" "Why do men do these things?" Dad smiled and told me that I "was no walk in the park either." That's my reality check. "I am no walk in the park either." What ever dismay I may feel in a "not so glorious" event in a relationship, I think of that comment. I smile and desist in my tirade.

When I look around me and see and hear people's stories of love relationships - good and bad - I wonder if we have inaccurately defined love. Is the love we seek, by definition, unattainable? A dictionary definition says that love is "a deep and tender affection, devotion and attachment." A deep and tender affection works for me. Devotion and attachment? In devotion we tend to put a person on the pedestal; a lonely place from which to fall. In attachment, we tend to crowd the space in which the person dwells. In love, we should have some distance between; eat from the same loaf, but drink from separate cups. There must be personal freedom in a relationship. "If you love them, set them free."

I am not bitter, although I am bruised. I am not angry despite my rant. I miss love's illusions. I miss the soulful connection. I miss the blatant honesty.

As I have grown, in years and in experience, I have no regrets for the loves in my life. I learned so much from each relationship; I learned volumes about me. For in the end, I remain - alone or in a relationship; and grateful to have had that soulful connection. I feel destined to find another. And, that's what love had do with it.

Lessons Learned for 2010

Happy New Year!

Like most of you I have spent the last few days reflecting upon the year that has passed and contemplating my game plan for the new year. What have I learned? What should I have done differently? What is it I want to accomplish? Where do I go from here.

I don't enter 2010 with the unabashed enthusiasm of a naive girl. I was once told that "all unhappiness is due to unrealized expectations." Rather than "expect", I look to the moment and take my joy as it is revealed; sometimes ever so slowly. With that said, I can truly say that 2009 was just fine. Oh, I had my financial woes and aches and pains and some disappointments on the job front; but, there were so many "ah ha" moments full of new understandings, new friends, new interests and the comfort of family and old friends. The days passed ever so quickly and as I look back I find many new lessons and many reminders that give me peace in my heart and comfort in my soul.

Here are some of the random thoughts that I take into 2010:

Finances

Get some. Don't spend so much.

Work
As are many Americans, I am in a "forced semi-retirement" stage. While I have been lucky to be able to hold things together and pick up an odd consulting arrangement here and there, I need to rejoin the work force.

One of my lessons learned is that one should find work - to live. For many years, I lived to work. I recall one of the last times I saw my father alive. I had gone back to Florida for a quick weekend to spend with him in his final weeks. When it came time for me to leave, I kissed him on his forehead and told him I had to get back to work. He looked at me sadly and said, "but, you don't love it. It will hurt you if you don't love it." He was so right. It does hurt you unless you find joy, fulfillment and satisfaction.

I have heard people say that we all can't have the luxury of working in a job, occupation or career that we love; choices are limited. I have learned that our choices to find something we love doing is often limited by our need and greed to consume. Less need and greed will set you free to explore other paths less laden with the things. In 2010 I will look to do something I love.

Tolerance

There is "good" tolerance and there is "bad" tolerance. Good tolerance is to recognize others' beliefs, practices, opinions without sharing them. Bad tolerance is to put up with something or someones practices which may not be ethical, moral or generally acceptable behavior.

I'm a strong believer in "agreeing to disagree" when it comes to politics, customs, religious beliefs, education, etc. I am very tolerant; it is free will and free speech (no matter how ill informed I may find it).

We should not sit quietly and tolerate bad behavior and ignorant actions. I am ever so tired of the thinly veiled racial slurs and ethnic jokes. I will not tolerate parents slapping their children in public nor will I sit quietly amidst teenage jeers and bullying of others. What happened to kindness and manners and patience and "doing unto others as you would have them do unto you?"

Friends

Friendship must be nurtured. And like most living things, some require more attention. There are friends that can be left on the window sill for weeks on end and will still greet you with a smile and in full bloom. There are those friendships that sometimes find themselves stagnant and must look beyond themselves to refresh and regenerate. We always find our way back.

I was lucky in 2009 to reconnect with some old friends and cultivate some wonderful new friends. Friendships that I need to tend to in the new year. These friends comfort me, educate me, motivate me, inspire me and make me laugh. These friends of mine are my priority in 2010.

Celebrate

To celebrate: to commemorate with ceremony or festivity. I was reminded in 2009 that one does not need to wait until Christmas or the Fourth of July to celebrate with friends and family. Each day we are given on this earth should be a celebration. Each sunrise and sunset; every "God Bless You' you hear and every "Good Morning" you are given; the smile on a child's face and the warm embrace of a friend; every blossom on the bush and every fresh pot of coffee - all are gifts and reason to celebrate.

So, I begin my celebration of the New Year. Welcome 2010 and I look forward to greeting you each and every day.

The Holidays Are Upon Us

Greetings to all this holiday season. I have been absent from my blog these last weeks. Holiday doings have been going on and especially at this time of year, I do my best to partake in the good spirit and cheer with friends and family.

I have been making notes, fast and furious and have much to tell you. But that will wait until the new year arrives. I wish you and your families the happiest and holiest of holidays; which ever holiday you observe.

Let us all pray for peace, tolerance and goodness for the year to come.

All my best wishes. . .

Thoughts from Christmases Past

The last few days my mind has been so scattered - things to do, places to go, people to see. I've been planning my travel itinerary to head South to visit family and friends for Christmas. The "sleigh" will be relatively empty this year, but I know it will come back full of memories.

The thoughts of the Christmases past sent me searching through a drawer of photographs. In the drawer was one of my "holiday journals." A journal in which I wrote of holiday events, traditions and kept assorted pictures and drawings. With my mind so scattered, I thought I would share some of those writings from days gone by.


Christmas, 1993

He said, 'I am always with you.' I truly believe I am part of Him, hence, I am always with you as well.

As our lives change and we move about, we all share the memories of 'home.' Even while the vision of home changes, there is still always one place we tend to come back to. . .this house.

It's not a big house. It's not the house that is described and memorialized in works of literature. It stores the memories we share. If the walls in the kitchen could talk; if the chips and the stains on the coffee table could tell; if the dining table could raise it's voice; if the hallway, which chronicles our lives, could repeat the stories it's heard. . .all would rise in unison and say, "this is our home"; "our meeting place"; this is where our family is one.

December 25, 1994

It is Christmas morning and Mama and I are sitting here admiring or new "museum piece". Last evening Bob presented Mama with the restoration of the clipper ship originally built by her father, Wilhelm Lange.

It is an impressive piece of work; art; love; continuity; TRADITION. The concept of restoration began three years ago. At Daddy's last Christmas in 1991, Bob showed Daddy the "remains" of the boat and told him he would restore it for Mama. Daddy and Papa Lange, and the rest of our angels, smiled at yet another part of our family, our traditions being preserved.

We are all very lucky, that each of us, in our own special way, have the talents to preserve, communicate and maintain tradition. Traditions that hold and bind us as family and friends. Christmas Eve at Mama's house is a tradition that I will always cherish.

The house took it's old form last evening; like a grand lady emerging for her annual debut. The tree that Mama labored over and fussed about slowly became the "perfect" tree, glittering and sparkling with its holiday adornment.

The music of the season soothed the holiday melancholy. Those not present are still in our hearts. The tables were set for all here, and afar. . .and gone. . .

. . .Bob, Bea, Veronica, Brian, Mama and I exchanged gifts. The presentation of the ship was quite dramatic. Bob orchestrated it with music by Wagner. Mama was very emotional. Veronica commented that she had never seen "Nanny" so moved by anything; she was grateful to have been witness.

This sharing of traditions helps us grow in our relationships with each other. This is the blessing of God; and He has so blessed this house; this family.

December 26, 1995

. . .Christmas Eve was at "home". . .a tradition I'll not part with. Mama and I prepared a small buffet. . .Bob and Bea joined us along with Diane and Ron, Annie, Lenny and Ethyl and Bob.


On Christmas Day we went out to Bob and Bea's for dinner. Joanie drove out with us. At Bob's house, I got my "house". Bob built me this most exquisite doll house. It is carefully crafted and full of love. It's so beautiful and I find myself silenced by this gift of love, time and talent. The words have not yet surfaced to thank him.

Bob is indeed a "giant". I find it no coincidence that he finds fascination with the "smaller things" in life. . .the doll houses; the model cars; The Village he has created in that huge, old tree in his backyard.

The Village is a magical place. Bob has created a series of winding stairs out of the trunk of the tree and climbing the branches up and up to an occassional platform. On the platforms are small huts, lit, and with small wisps of smoke rising from its chimneys. There are barrels and campfires and entryways into the tree itself. Some of the stairs led to a bridge crossing from one branch to another. He says that every year he needs to re-build the stairs and the bridges; you see the tree is growing, and so is the Village.

The Village. . .I am so glad that I was there to share Alexis' first viewing of the Village. She wanted so much to see "them". . .the little people. She could "smell" them cooking and she felt certain that she was small enough to fit through their entry way. She is such a precious child.

This particular journal ends abruptly. My brother Bob, died suddenly in 1998. Mama's house was sold in 1999 and Bea sold her and Bob's home that same year. There would be no more Village. Mama died in 2003.

I am not saddened by these memories of Christmases past. I am ever so thankful that I have those memories and that these people have been part of my life.

Please don't burst my bubbles

Perhaps everything is not how it is (or was), but how it is remembered.

If you have visited my blog before, you may find that I comment on "perception" quite often. I am fascinated (perhaps obsessed) with how differently we all view the world, our situation and the situations of others. I become distressed over political differences, frustrated over the division of business risk assessments, and often hurt by the wide schism of artistic interpretation.

I use the word "hurt" to describe artistic differences because I believe art is a reflection of soul. And I use the concept of "art" quite broadly - not just painting and literature and performance - but any creative endeavor. I am hurt by intolerance and the lack of acceptance that people view things differently.

How we perceive, how we remember, an event, a person, a thing, a vision, shapes our very being. I am a collection of memories: some are the learned doctrines to live in our society; some are the feelings that have been shared with me; some are the feelings I felt; some are the feelings and memories that I have repressed.

All of these experiences and memories sometimes gives us a skewed reality. Think of the frustration of police detectives as they try to gather accounts from numerous witnesses to a crime. Everyone sees something different. All are correct; and all are wrong. The collective descriptions produce a puzzle for the solving.

Now, consider a family gathering of many years ago. If you round up the usual suspects to recollect the event you will find yourself wondering if anyone was at the same place at the same time. The memory is personal. The memory is a function of your learned perception and likes or dislikes - optimist? pessimist? realist?

I remember the beautiful Christmas tree. I remember that Uncle Harry got incredibly drunk. I remember that I got a cashmere sweater. I remember that we had sauerbraten. I remember that I had a migraine headache. I remember that Susie had on the most beautiful red shoes. I remember that it was the night that Dad got ill and died a month later. All true. Some "trite" memories; some "profound" - all subjective.

There are so many seemingly insignificant events in our lives that stay with us; sometimes haunting us. I remember one time being ever so rude to a woman at a social agency. I was there for a job interview; she was there for help. I made it clear to her that I was not seeking social assistance. I was twenty. I still see her face. I wish I could go back and apologize. She probably doesn't remember. I hope not.

I have a painting in my home that has become "a joke" among some of my "friends". They find some humor in teasing me about the abstract. They don't seem to understand that it is not as much as what I see in the painting that gives me joy, it is also what I remember about the evening I purchased it. I was at one of my favorite galleries in town. I was sipping on a great cabernet savingnon. I was with the man I loved (at the time). I knew the artist. It was raining out. I was in a melancholy mood. The mist in the painting spoke to me. It took me out of the melancholy and helped me to see the joy of the evening. I bought the painting. Whenever I look at the painting I remember coming out of the mist. Perhaps that is not how it was, but it is how I remember it.

We all create our little bubbles of joy; in some cases depression. But, these bubbles are ours. These bubbles are our memories, feelings, thoughts. The bubbles launch into our surroundings and float about our heads. They eventually dissipate on their own. That is how it is meant to be.

Please don't burst my bubbles; let them soar as they were meant to be.

'Twas the Weeks Before Christmas 2009

'Twas the weeks before Christmas in 2009,
All the people were stirring,
in search of a dime;

A dime, a nickel, even a dollar;
'cause it was time to partake in Christmas delights;
Yes, it was time to buy presents,
buy trees and buy lights!

Into the stores and on to the web,
they search frantically for coupons and discounts and mark downs galore;
Where can I spend less?
And get so much more?


The year had not be pleasant you know;
There had been the reduction of jobs and bills piling up;
But December had come, and their heads were held high;
And with eyes all aglow,
Off to the mall they went, still praying for snow;
They must have Christmas;
They must have the Christmas they know.

The department store Santa has lost lots of weight,
The little ones are perplexed by this trait.
I spy him texting and tweeting and hear his phone jingle;
It’s not something we normally see from “the Kringle”


And then I hear him tell a young boy on his knee,
“I’ll get you your toy, yes I will my young lad,
but you must do something for me;
Yes, yes, you must give to your dad my latest CV."


The Santa, you see, had once been a boss,
A Senior VP at Gardner and Ross.
The business had fallen way behind plan,
And now he needed to find new employment;
He must do something to improve his family’s enjoyment.

The year of ’09 has not been plentiful;
Jobs disappeared and the stocks tumbled.
Princes and paupers alike, found themselves dining in candlelight.
No money to pay the energy bills, they found other ways to enjoy and delight.

More time to spend with family and friends,
Getting back to nature and making amends.
Finding repose in the strangest of places.
Why, some even found it on their children's faces.

The meal may be lighter;
The glass less full;
The presents may be less,
But, we will all still gather and bless:

Bless the time we have,
Bless the people we love,
Bless the faith we foster and
The strength we command. ..

And share a very Merry Christmas across the land.