Open Book

The Traditional 2009 in the Rearview.

This little exercise has become a bit of a tradition here (see: 2005, 2007 and 2008 - what happened to 2006, I cannot say) and, being nothing if not a traditionalist, I am compelled to carry it on. And so, a look back at the year that was.

1. What did you do in 2009 that you'd never done before?

Moved home to West Virginia after 16 years away. Took a dream job in a bookstore. Bought a 105 year old house. Cooked Julia Child's Boeuf Bourguignon! Leaf peeped in Vermont at the peak of the season. 

2. Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

Here's what I said last year: "I'll just point to this list and comment that if I could mark one or five of them achieved in 2009, it will be a very good year." How'd I do, you might wonder? Pretty fair, I'd say. And upon reviewing the list again, I'm especially pleased to realize that several of these items will be achieved in full in 2010. Exciting!

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

Yes! A former co-worker had her first baby and I stocked his library with classics to mark the occasion. It gave me a twinge of grandbaby fever. Ha!

4. Did anyone close to you die?

Thankfully, no. Although, at the risk of being redundant, 2009 sure seemed a cruel and unusual year in terms of celebrity deaths, didn't it?

5. What countries did you visit?

I don't suppose I can convince you that Vermont should count here, can I?

6. What would you like to have in 2010 that you lacked in 2009?

I can't think of a single thing to put here. Honest.

7. What dates from 2009 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

January 2 - the day my husband left me behind in North Carolina to start forging our new lives in West Virginia. January 20 - the day history was made. January 31 - the day we sold our home in Raleigh. April 1 - the day we closed on our new home in Charleston.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Achievement is a difficult thing for me to measure of myself in the best of times. This year, I'd have to say my biggest achievement was successfully navigating the oftentimes treacherous path that massive life change can carve. All in all, the transition involved in uprooting our lives and going home again was smooth, sweet and wholly wonderful. Given the myriad things that might've gone wrong or that mightn't have worked out as I imagined, it's really a rather remarkable thing to realize how relatively easily the whole event unfolded.

9. What was your biggest failure?

I hate this question. My failures are many. My resolve to acknowledge them is abundant. My willingness to relive and spell them all out here for you - again (see: I blog) - not so vast. (A repeat response from last year, because it fits. And because I can, also too.)

10. What was the best thing you bought?

This old house. Hands down.

11. Whose behavior merited celebration?

2009 was a year filled with celebrations - large and small - of virtually every member of my immediate family. It was a very good year - new jobs, new schools, big changes, milestone birthdays, an engagement. And my family took special care to appreciate every moment of it along the way.

12. Whose behavior made you appalled and disgusted?

A great many people behaved badly this year and warranted a good nose wrinkle from me. Fortunately, most of those folks were public humiliations, not personal friends.

13. What song will always remind you of 2009?

At Last. I know, I know. Nobody can touch Etta. But it's this version that says 2009 for me.

Okay, and maybe anything by Michael Jackson, also too.

14. What do you wish you'd done more of?

Blogging, oddly enough. I really slacked this year and regret the gaps that exist in journaling the year that was. I'm hoping to do better in 2010 - or admit it's over, one or the other. Although really? As many times as I've wondered if the ghost had given up on me before I'd had the chance to give up the ghost, I would grieve its loss more than I care to admit. So. I hope to do better in 2010.

15. What do you wish you'd done less of?

The self-defeating, self-destructive things. Smoking, for example. Excusing myself from the hard things, for another. There are more failings and shortcomings I could've gone the year long with less of. You just don't need to know about them so much. ;-)

16. Did you fall in love in 2009?

Yes I did. But then, I fall more in love with my love with every passing year.

17. What was your favorite TV program?

House. Criminal Minds. Brothers and Sisters. Glee. CSPAN-2.

18. What was the best book you read?

The Story of Edgar Sawtelle  by David Wroblewski

19. What one thing would have made your year measurably more satisfying?

This might sound...disingenuous. But I don't care. 2009 would have been vastly more satisfying for me if the civil and political discourse in this country had stepped up to the challenge of reaching for the best within us instead of stooping to the depths of the worst among us. There is so much more to be achieved by working together than can ever be accomplished in the environment of toxicity present today. It concerns me that we may have tripped over the point of no return this year.

20. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2009?

I have no personal fashion concept. Would love nothing more than for someone to develop a Garanimals line for grown ups.

21. What kept you sane?

Who says I'm sane?

22. Who did you miss?

One gentleman in particular: my former boss in Raleigh was a teacher, mentor, counselor, father figure and friend. His daily presence in my life has been sorely missed.

23. Who was the best new person you met?

The lovely British owner of the bookstore where I am now happily employed, along with the rest of the staff.

24. Tell us a valuable lesson you learned in 2009.

You absolutely *can* go home again. Don't ever let anyone tell you different.

25. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

And when the rain falls down
You know the flower's gonna bloom.
And when the hard times come
You know the Teacher's in the room.
And when the sun comes up
You know that I'll be there for you.

Don't let it go, oh no.
Just have a little faith in me -
I'll have a little faith in you.

Let your hearts be light.

From my heart to yours, may you have yourselves a merry little Christmas.

Christmas, children, is not a date. It is a state of mind.

I think Mary Ellen Chase got it right with those words. This holiday cannot be contained in a single box on a calendar page. It can't be wrapped up in paper tied with a shiny ribbon, or subtracted from a checking account balance, or stuffed in a stocking hung by the chimney with care. This holiday is comprised of anticipation, reflection, reunion, joy, love, giving, receiving, doing and wishing - all nebulous things that can't be counted down or ticked off a list or even, at the end of the day, held in one's hands.

All things that can only, truly, be held in one's heart and mind.

And that's just the way it should be.

__________________

We had a Big Snow this weekend. It wasn't as big as is being reported in surrounding areas, but it was enough to take out the power for 40,000 or so residents in my county. Including my mother-in-law. After toughing it out for the better part of a day, she finally agreed to let my husband rescue her from her 28 degree house and come stay with us for the duration.

It was such a comfort to know we had a place for her to come, with heat and electricity, good food and family all around. We ate ourselves silly over the course of her 24-hours with us - pot roast and cherry pie, cookies and hot chocolate, chili with all the fixins. I cooked and baked and chopped and sauteed and peeled and rolled and ... well, ate, naturally. Like a pig, actually. We all did.

It may not have been (surely will prove not to have been) worth it in the long run, but in the moment, let me tell you: I enjoyed every single morsel.

And then some.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow, I say!

Maybe when the roads clear, I'll waddle my way to the YMCA to repent for my gluttonous ways.

(Or maybe not.)

!!!

Okay, okay. I will. I WILL.

__________________

This house of ours, I've come to believe, was built for Christmas. Every nook and cranny of it seems created for the extra special purpose of bearing witness to the spirit of the season, and it looks - no thanks to any special talent of mine - warm, festive, cheery and inviting.

It's a veritable wonderland-in-waiting, I'm telling you.

The Christmas china my mother bought me all those years ago has finally found a suitable home in the dining room and will be put to full usefulness when I serve this year's Christmas Eve meal. The over-sized foyer houses the tree with all its trimmings and the stockings grace the room's ornate mantle piece as if they were made just to do so. My snowman collection fills the living room with jolly good fun and the icicle lights trace the Victorian lines of the front porch as if they were placed there by Mother Nature herself.

I've spent a good many days baking cookies and mixing up batches of treats for co-workers, friends and neighbors, with the occasional goody finding it's way to my own waistline in the process. I've wrapped the gifts and decorated the mantles. I've planned the menus and made the beds in the guest rooms. I've discussed logistics and surprises, and I've plotted to avoid pitfalls and disasters. I've nearly finished the border on the annual Christmas jigsaw puzzle, and I've celebrated the days of Advent with candles and song.

These are good things, every one, as this year we will be hosting the entire family here for various parts of the season. My parents are planning (holiday miracle!) to make the trip on Wednesday, my daughter and her fiance will be here for the weekend, and my mother-in-law and my brother's family will be in and out throughout the holiday.

And so I've done all of this in necessary preparation, yes. But this year, more than most, I've also done these things in mindful celebration.

And so I'm ready, not for the holiday to begin, but for it to carry on, the more the merrier, the bigger the better, the longer the sweeter.

I can't wait.

So I'm not.

Waiting, that is.

Christmas is here, or I'm am there, however you'd like to see it.

The 25th of December is going to be a lovely day, to be sure.

But it's already been a wonderful Christmastime.

Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that.

1. Today's first line title appears in the Charles Dickens classic, A Christmas Carol. There are so many beautiful volumes of this story out there. Wouldn't it be fun to collect them? Have often thought the same thing about 'Twas the Night Before Christmas.

2. Speaking of books, sales at my little Indie store have been crazy good this holiday season. I'm particularly happy about this because I took over as book buyer in mid-October and seeing month-on-month sales from last year to this increase exponentially warms the cockles of my heart.

3. What the hell is a heart's cockle, anyway?

4. Never mind. Google knows. Goggle knows everything.

5. I was quite sad to hear of Chris Henry's untimely and utterly stupid death this morning. Many of you probably don't know who Chris Henry is, and those of you who do likely know him as a wide receiver for the Cincinnati Bengals. But he was also a supremely talented and valued member of WVU's Mountaineer Nation. While his life trajectory was often rocky and troubled, he seemed to be tracking in a positive direction, and I can't help but mourn the fact that he leaves behind three babies and a future filled with a world of promise.

6. Jennifer Jones died today, too. She was a golden era actress of the classy, old school variety, and I might not even know her name were it not for family lore. Seems my mother saw this lovely brunette star in a movie playing on the television set in her hospital room shortly after I was delivered, and lo, a name was bestowed on the newborn babe. It's not clear whether this story is actually true or not, but it has been repeated often enough for me to accept it as my truth. So. Rest in peace, Jennifer Jones. I shall try to carry your name with the same grace and dignity you did. Although I'll mostly fail, I'll try.

7. And - for the trifecta - let's bow our heads and remember Roy Disney, the last active family member in the Disney Domain, who passed away this week at the age of 79 and once famously said, "When your values are clear to you, making decisions becomes easier." Indeed, good sir.

8. 2009 has been either 1) a strangely active year for the demise of the well-known, or 2) a strangely active year for my paying attention to the demise of the well-known. Whichever...2009? Wow.

9. A very happy thing happened today. An almost unbelievable, heart warming, generous display of Christmas spirit that has already made its mark among the most memorable moments of this holiday season. A co-worker of mine at the bookstore received a card, via Priority Mail, from a local address. Inside the card was $500 and a note that said, "Why? Because sometimes we all just need a little help, and sometimes we're in a position to offer a little help. You are a kind and gentle soul. Enjoy. Merry Christmas." It was unsigned.

10. I wish you could have seen D's face when he thrust the whole package at me and said, "Look! This is crazy! What the hell is this?" He was shocked beyond shocked. He was stunned. Stupefied. And then, when he realized what had happened, he was quietly thrilled. I think he's going to splurge on a nice gift for his long-time girlfriend (they are both artists-in-waiting; in the meantime, she's a waitress, he's a bookstore clerk - this money is a literal fortune for them) and who knows, who cares?, what he'll do with the rest.

11. After the crazy excitement subsided, I said to him, "You know what this means. It means you have to go out into the world and pay this act forward. Everyday." He got very serious, looked at me and said, "I do. I know. I've just been given a huge responsibility." And then he beamed. And it was good.

12. So, that's my happy ending for the day. The only thing that would have made it any better is if I was the one who'd thought to do it for him first. But you know...ideas are like seeds, spreading and sowing from unexpected sources all around us. And now that one's been planted in my merry little heart, who can say what might happen?

13. 'Tis surely the right season to remember these wisest of words: 

"We make a living by what we get, but we make a life by what we give."

Flight

It's cliche', of course it is, but my, how time flies.

This is especially true around Christmas. Three months ago, I was extolling the virtues of early holiday preparedness, and now, a mere nine days before the Really Big Show arrives, I'm feeling a bit of the panic onset that seems inevitable. Even though I'm ready. Even though.

______________

I went to Kentucky this past weekend to hang out with my folks. To give my mother some time off, some relief from her every waking moment reality. She spent her freedom wisely - dinner and a play with friends, a day of shopping and pampering and wandering without stealing glances at her watch. I know she enjoyed herself, and not only because she told me so, but because she glowed and smiled and sighed the undeniable tension right out of her tightly wound self before my very eyes.

It's a small thing, and certainly no sacrifice on my part to spend a couple of days with my dad, watching news and sports and country music videos, chatting about the past, ignoring the present and casually referencing the future that includes (maybe! hopefully!) a holiday trip to West Virginia for them and (delightfully!) a wedding for his first born granddaughter. 

So yes. It's a small thing. But it's a treasured gift in my mother's eyes, a fact I find equal parts the saddest thing I know and the most gratifying act of love I can offer.

______________

We took my mother-in-law to see the Moscow Ballet's performance of The Nutcracker. The tickets were a birthday present for her, purchased because she let it slip over Thanksgiving that she'd never seen it, not once in all her 84 years. I found that impossible to believe and harder still to accept, if only because it is one of my most favorite Christmastime traditions.

So...last Monday night, we collected her and her friend and proceeded to the show.

I suppose there is a reason she hasn't seen The Nutcracker in 84 years. Namely, her whispered admission to me just before the curtain went up that she harbors a long held aversion to seeing the boys dance and prance in their tights. I spent the rest of the performance wondering and worrying about my seat mates' enjoyment of the extravaganza unfolding on the stage. To my left, my oh-so-sweet husband, who accompanied we three women to an event he considered a mild form of punishment. To my right, my mother-in-law, with whose eyes I found myself judging every plié and pas de deux of the dancers.

Her first comment to me as the company took their bows? "Were you disappointed in any aspect of it at all?"

Which I can only translate as, "Bah humbug."

But, as always, she was gracious and profuse in her gratitude and at least pretended to be awed and delighted when all was said and done. Because she's well-mannered like that, if nothing else.

Bless her heart.

______________

On the night of her birthday, we were sitting at the dinner table conversing casually when I heard my husband say, "More Grandma's house is gone."

More Grandma's house would be my beloved grandmother's house, the one positioned directly across the river from our beautiful state capitol building. The one I spent half my life in growing up, celebrating birthdays and holidays, enjoying huge family gatherings and Sunday dinners, and passing quiet evenings curled up on the couch in the crook of my grandmother's arm. The one I ran through as if I owned the place, from the river bank to the make-believe fairy house under the branches of the massive old oak tree in the front yard. The one with the big kitchen, where I learned the secrets of perfect fried chicken and how to make a Snickerdoodle. The one I consider the family homestead, where a lifetime of memories were made.

I looked up from my plate.

"What? Gone? What do you mean, gone?"

My husband's eyes grew wide as he said, "I'm sorry...I thought you knew."

He thought I knew, I suppose, because one of our regular walking/biking routes takes us along the river by the capitol steps where we could gaze across at my grandmother's house, now owned by strangers. We watched as it seemed to fall into a state of disrepair and neglect, the gorgeous home devolving over the summer and fall into a seemingly unloved collection of bricks and stone and shingles.

But I didn't know. I hadn't seen the trucks and the workman as they systematically began to demolish the house my grandfather built, the house my family loved. Brick by brick, stone by stone, shingle by shingle, until...nothing. Until the house was gone.

The house is gone.

It's an empty lot, awaiting the arrival of new bricks and stones and shingles, ready to be built up into a new house for a new family to make their memories in, atop a piece of land haunted by our days gone by.

My grandmother's house is gone.

It's inconceivable.

Perhaps all the more so because I've yet to find the fortitude to go look for myself.

______________

So, yes. It's cliche', but time does fly. 

Disappears right before our very eyes, days slipping through the cracks and into the archives of life before we can even fully appreciate their existence, unless we're careful enough to save our memories of them in our hearts for safekeeping.

Any way I tell this story is a lie, so I ask you to disconnect the device in your head that repeats at intervals how ancient and addled I am.

1. Today's first line title is from a small but mighty powerhouse of a book called Lit: A Memoir, written by Mary Karr. This is the latest in a sort of trilogy about her life and I can't recommend each one of them highly enough. If, you know, you're into reading a person's honest, unvarnished personal life's truths in their own hand. It occurs to me that blog readers are far and away the largest and most avid defined set of consumers of the art of the memoir. Wouldn't you agree? 

2. This has been a difficult autumn, except for the fact that it's been quite wonderful, too. There is an undercurrent of unease, I guess you might say. A buried fear that won't stay down, a worry that worms its way through the goodness of a day, a near-stifling ennui borne on the wings of a damn virus that will not be defeated. Underthings, every one.

3. My dad is not well. There are no new developments. No new ailments. Nothing I can type out that will make sense. No "my father had a stroke," or "has congestive heart failure," or "needs more surgery." Nothing so cut and dried, and yet nothing simple. My father is failing, with every passing day. At 6'4" tall, he weighs in at 148 pounds. He spends at least 70% of his time in his bed. He has panic attacks and fights a fear of falling on a daily basis, to the point where even the most basic daily hygiene endeavors require heroic feats of bravery to tackle.

4. And my mom. I don't even know what to say. My mom. She is ... I don't know if a word exists to describe what she is, who she is, what she's doing and how. She is part hero, part Saint, part machine and part Earth Mother. She is, in short, remarkable. I thank God for her on a daily, sometimes hourly, basis.

5. So...it's difficult for me. Not to be there all the time. To go to football games and parties, to work and to play. To feel so helpless and, mostly, do-less, even though there isn't really much I can do. But it's so not about me. Life goes on with me in it, and I love life, I do. I love my life, madly, truly. It does go on, but there is an undercurrent that goes along with it, and it simply is what it is.

6. So...Thanksgiving? Was wonderful. In a thousand different ways. Except my parents weren't with us. They were home alone, and we were here all together, and it was wonderful and bittersweet. See? Do you get it? Is this ... understandable? I'm sure it must be. So why do I feel a twinge of guilt admitting that all that glitters is not solidly golden all the way through?

7. And also? I have Epstein Barr. Or, more aptly stated, I am recovering from the effects of Epstein Barr. Which looks a lot like depression and probably would have been treated as such were it not for the flu like symptoms that accompanied it in the early going. Think mono for grown ups. Two weeks of my life spent sleeping, medicating, doctoring. That was two weeks ago. A few weeks more of random moments of crushing fatigue, weakness, and general malaise to look forward to, in all likelihood, before it's said and done.

8. But there is goodness, too. Piles and piles of it. Let's move on to that portion of our program, shall we?

9. Thanksgiving was full of a million blessings and then some. My daughter and future son-in-law were with us for the entire weekend. I spent what energy I had fixing up "her" room just so - it turned out lovely, homey and warm, and I was thrilled by how thrilled such a small thing made her.

10.  We didn't have to make a 10-hour round trip this year for the festivities. We were home. We ARE home. And quite the home it is, if I do say so myself. This place...it fills me with peace and serenity that goes far beyond my love of the physicality of the house. This place...it owns my heart, and that, as we all know, is most surely where one finds oneself at home.

11. I cooked! From scratch! Not everything. Breaking my mother-in-law of the "order it all from Kroger's" habit is going to be more difficult than I imagined. But I made Paula Deen's stuffing from the cornbread up, and a green bean casserole using fresh green beans, baby bella mushrooms and a buttery cornflake topping. Both were amazing (again, I'm doing a lot of saying so myself here, but it's my party, I'll toot my horn if I want to), and next year? I'm going to do every bit of the meal except the turkey from scratch in my kitchen or fall on my butcher knife fighting for the chance.

12. There was Friday night football! Of a trip to Morgantown to revel in the Mountaineer crushing their arch rivals variety! With the usual tailgate suspects, of course, but also with all five of us, my brother-in-law, my brother, his wife and two nephews in tow! Every family should share such a bond. Even when politics, religion, personality and history can create strife, there is pure and complete unity of hearts and minds when it comes to this bunch and the WVU Mountaineers. It's a beautiful thing.

13. And now more holidays are upon us. The house's halls are decked (albeit, not a single bough of holly to be found) and it has taken on the glowing spirit of the season. We plan to resume our old tradition of decorating the tree on my mother-in-law's birthday, and Sunday will be spent surrounded by food and cake and presents and ornaments and twinkle lights and carols.

I'm looking forward to it.

Very much, indeed.

I'm looking forward.

Noise

One of the more disconcerting things about living downtown is the night noise; most specifically, the sirens.

Granted, we don't live in New York City. In fact, granted, the population of my entire state could fit on the island of Manhattan, and if we all managed to politely scootch over just so, there'd still be room for the state of Rhode Island to squeeze in beside us. But still. There is a certain expectation of quiet in the inky black of night, and even a single siren piercing the air is enough to shiver one's timbers.

I had a meeting yesterday morning. One I was called to, and was wary of attending. All day Monday, my racing mind sent my nerve endings on a wild goose chase for calm, until I could feel myself wrapped up in a tangle of knots based on little more than morose overthinking. I don't know what it was I anticipated, really. Or maybe the fraying nerves were a result of not knowing what to expect. Whatever the case, I spent the late hours of Monday and the wee hours of Tuesday morning in a topsy turvy state, tossing and turning, pacing and thinking, generally working myself up into a zombie-esque lather.

Throughout the sleepless night, the noise of the city rang out clarion clear - a fire engine here, a chopper coming in for a landing atop the nearby hospital there. A train snaking through the valley in the hush of night across the river, sending the chugs and clanks bouncing off the mountain to reverberate across the valley and up my front steps.

When my alarm went off, it was anti-climactic. I was already awake, heart pounding, eyes wide open, waiting.

As it happened, the meeting itself was anti-climactic, too. A brief conversation, a few pats on the back, a handful of action item takeaways, end scene.

Enter nap.

Wholly typical of me to get myself all worked up for nothing. Happens time after time after time. I wonder if this is just part of a natural instinctual "fight or flight" mechanism or some carefully nurtured automated reaction to the outside world? 

Perhaps it's a simple marriage of the two, one too-finely honed and the other too-dutifully cultivated.