It is Christmas Eve.
The presents were opened early. Sarah and Jacob have headed to their downtown Nashville home. Dennis and I are sitting outside the motor home around one of those mesh/cone/firebox things with a Duraflame log flickering. I would have lost a fortune if I had ever bet against you ever finding us on Christmas Eve around an artificial log in a KOA campground within sight of the Opryland Hotel! And yet, I am aglow in the peace of this night and warmed by the wonder of the love of family and friends, present and past.
Institutional religion has long ago lost its allure for me. Even though the glory of Christmas music filling a sanctuary still can accessorize a Christmas Eve celebration, tonight even that is not necessary. We found a Nashville radio station with non-stop Christmas music. Who knew there were so many country music versions of all our favorites?
There is a chill in the Nashville air, but a glance toward Dennis and a deep look into our artificial fire warms me to my core. I pause for just a moment in a curious reflection upon anyone who could see our lives and still believe that our relationship is not valid, not worthy of an equal standing with our straight brothers and sisters, and even a sin. Of all the sorrows in the world, of all the divine challenges my God must face every day, I simply cannot believe that God actually could care less if the state chose to recognize our love and the love we give together to this world.
Such thoughts are fleeting. I settle upon memories of Christmas Eves past, focusing on my lifelong belief that a child was born this night long, long ago. I still wonder at the fear and love of an unwed mother, wrapping her newborn son and placing him in a feeding trough of a dirty stable. I fast forward to the wonder of my youngest child Sarah wrapping critically ill babies in blankets and saving many of their lives with the skills she has worked so hard to acquire.
I recall the recent visits with Rob and Rebekah and Laura and Jens. I smile at what I have seen these past weeks as they love and nurture their new babies. I marvel that the unconditional love of Mary and the unconditional love of my children's parents and grandparents are so naturally passed on to these new members of our world. I know that the world will be a better place because my children and their wonderful spouses are a part of it all.
I shiver for a moment in the night chill but return quickly to my memories. My mind is flooded with the thrills of Christmas Eves as a child made so special by parents struggling to provide for four children, yet always making Christmas a time of amazing memories.
Flooding my heart are memories of years of assembling Hot Wheels and rocking horses after the kids were asleep, searching by phone (pre-Internet) for a Cabbage Patch doll (having to settle for buying a Cabbage Patch doll head and sewing and stuffing a doll body in an attempt to save a Christmas), and waiting while Sarah performed her annual duties of package distribution on Christmas morn.
Still as special as this season is in my Christian heritage, Dennis and I still pause and wonder at the experience of watching our son-in-law Jacob light his Menorah candles and sing the ancient songs that the baby Jesus would soon learn and sing his entire life. I wonder at the love and understanding we are priviledged to share with those of other faiths. I mourn the ungodliness of the sufferring and death that people of different faiths (including my own) have brought to others throughout history.
The cold overtakes me. Dennis and I leave our burning wax log and head into our motor coach. Home is truly where one's heart is. It really is love that makes a home, and I am at home with my life partner Dennis.
Oh, holy night.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
The Fate of the Fiery Death
Little doubt can any longer be had that I shall surely die a fiery death on a lonely residential road in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida. It will happen at the hands of one of three types of people:
1. An elderly driver whose face is so far below the dashboard that I will never see it.
2. Some idiot on a cell phone who will never notice me until his/her pickup is implanted squarely in the side of my little Saturn.
3. A young man, still in his teens, who will never hear my blaring horn over the thud, thud, thudding of his hyper-base speakers implanted somewhere in the rear of his car.
Please do not mourn for me. I know it could come, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it except stay off the roads.
As for the elderly driver, I will never see a face. I know my last sight on earth will be of two shriveled hands grasping the top of a steering wheel, with no sight of a head in the car. As much as I mourn the loss of freedom that such drivers will experience, I will support any petition drive to get them off the road.
I am not talking here about the perpetual left blinker that all of us Midwesterners know so well. I am talking about drifting across three lanes of traffic without any warning. I can attest to intersections run straight through with nary a glance to either side as the green-lighted traffic slams on their brakes in self defense.
I have screamed in terror as a beloved senior driver screeched to a halt on a four lane highway at the base of an exit ramp, wondering I assume if this is the exit he or she should have taken. And know this, honking your horn only insures that the befuddled little person will slam on the brakes no matter what the circumstances of traffic might be.
Do not assume you are safe in a Target parking lot. Reversing out of a parking space seems to disable the brakes of such elder-driven vehicles as they do not back out, but hop or bolt out of a space regardless of pedestrian or vehicular traffic. My guess is that the elderly are the most likely to get me.
However, they are followed quite closely by various idiots with cell phones lodged permanently in their ears as they attempt to drive both automatic and (much, much worse) standard transmissions, mostly on souped up pickup trucks. Yes, God forbid such fools should drive little harmless cars. I find myself yelling upward into the two story window of trucks without mufflers carrying drivers with no clue of the traffic around them. My zoned out fellow travelers are deep into a phone call without which surely their lives as they know them would cease to exist. What could possibly be so important that a 30 minute trip in traffic requires 30 minutes on the phone?
I have waited through traffic lights which went unnoticed by these phone junkies. I have signaled, pulled ahead and started to change lanes, only to be met with blaring horns from the trucks of these phone implanted empty heads who have only just noticed that I am on the same road as are they. Yes, some person unknown to me will be the last person to hear me scream, over someone else's cell phone.
I am so upset at this point in the writing that I cannot even delve into the curse of the background base or sub-woffer or whatever it might be called. Suffice it to say, all the curses mentioned above settle in the steering wheels of these music destroyers. Added only to such a danger is the tragedy that the last thing I will hear on earth will be the rattling of some cheap speaker attempting to crank out unintelligible noise, touted as music by the deaf young people who apparently listen to it.
Please, no flowers. A contribution in my memory to your favorite charity will be greatly appreciated (provided it is not the AARP Right-to-Drive lobby).
1. An elderly driver whose face is so far below the dashboard that I will never see it.
2. Some idiot on a cell phone who will never notice me until his/her pickup is implanted squarely in the side of my little Saturn.
3. A young man, still in his teens, who will never hear my blaring horn over the thud, thud, thudding of his hyper-base speakers implanted somewhere in the rear of his car.
Please do not mourn for me. I know it could come, and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it except stay off the roads.
As for the elderly driver, I will never see a face. I know my last sight on earth will be of two shriveled hands grasping the top of a steering wheel, with no sight of a head in the car. As much as I mourn the loss of freedom that such drivers will experience, I will support any petition drive to get them off the road.
I am not talking here about the perpetual left blinker that all of us Midwesterners know so well. I am talking about drifting across three lanes of traffic without any warning. I can attest to intersections run straight through with nary a glance to either side as the green-lighted traffic slams on their brakes in self defense.
I have screamed in terror as a beloved senior driver screeched to a halt on a four lane highway at the base of an exit ramp, wondering I assume if this is the exit he or she should have taken. And know this, honking your horn only insures that the befuddled little person will slam on the brakes no matter what the circumstances of traffic might be.
Do not assume you are safe in a Target parking lot. Reversing out of a parking space seems to disable the brakes of such elder-driven vehicles as they do not back out, but hop or bolt out of a space regardless of pedestrian or vehicular traffic. My guess is that the elderly are the most likely to get me.
However, they are followed quite closely by various idiots with cell phones lodged permanently in their ears as they attempt to drive both automatic and (much, much worse) standard transmissions, mostly on souped up pickup trucks. Yes, God forbid such fools should drive little harmless cars. I find myself yelling upward into the two story window of trucks without mufflers carrying drivers with no clue of the traffic around them. My zoned out fellow travelers are deep into a phone call without which surely their lives as they know them would cease to exist. What could possibly be so important that a 30 minute trip in traffic requires 30 minutes on the phone?
I have waited through traffic lights which went unnoticed by these phone junkies. I have signaled, pulled ahead and started to change lanes, only to be met with blaring horns from the trucks of these phone implanted empty heads who have only just noticed that I am on the same road as are they. Yes, some person unknown to me will be the last person to hear me scream, over someone else's cell phone.
I am so upset at this point in the writing that I cannot even delve into the curse of the background base or sub-woffer or whatever it might be called. Suffice it to say, all the curses mentioned above settle in the steering wheels of these music destroyers. Added only to such a danger is the tragedy that the last thing I will hear on earth will be the rattling of some cheap speaker attempting to crank out unintelligible noise, touted as music by the deaf young people who apparently listen to it.
Please, no flowers. A contribution in my memory to your favorite charity will be greatly appreciated (provided it is not the AARP Right-to-Drive lobby).
Sunday, December 7, 2008
First Birthdays
I see on the Internet that it is below zero windchill at our Minnesota home. Now I remember why we flee South this time of year! My bones ache in the sun, imagine me in the deep freeze.
On Saturday Dennis and I experienced a warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature. Our precious granddaughter, Reese Elizabeth Kottke, celebrated her first birthday. It is probably more accurate to say all the adults celebrated it for her. I am sure that as far as Reese was concerned it was just a day when the house filled with people, she got to wear a pink tu-tu and a silly head bow, and sugar was everywhere.
Poor Reese. She is already, well let's politely say, an active child. She has never had much sugar. She dove into a cake of her own that her Grandpa Tom baked for her (at her mother's request). Laura was heard to say, "This is my child on crack!" There were no naps that day and bedtime was quite protracted.
Reese really didn't have a chance with her blood lines from the Creighton, Lewis, and Zinn families. Each family can claim rather hyper souls. I leave out Kottke because her grandpa Gail Kottke is at times the only source of calm at a gathering of the families.
Laura and Jens worked very hard and had a wonderful celebration. I told Laura how much I remembered Laura's first birthday and wondered if she remembered it. She said, "Well of course not." My response was, "My point exactly. Let's relax a little bit!"
Dennis and I once again resisted the urge to buy a metal drum set for Reese (we already passed on it for grandson Will). I know I will not be able to hold out much longer. There is such a sense of fun in providing non-stop obnoxious noise to the households of one's children.
Aside from all the fun, the blessings of the day cannot be overstated. Just as when we were with Rob and Rebekah and Will, I stood again in wonder at God's gift of healthy happy children and the amazing blessing of grandchildren. Here Reese stood at the culmination of her first year on earth. She was loving, happy, eager, and nonstop observant of everything around her. To pause just a moment to take in the wonder of our own gift of life through the eyes of a child is truly one of the most humbling yet beautiful experiences of adult life. It holds a lesson that we all could use in these times of the worldwide mess we older folks have made.
As have parents and grandparents since the dawn of time I yearn for something better for all children. I wish we could all pause for just a moment, capture the beauty and wonder of our world through the eyes of a child. Perhaps we could then recommit ourselves to do our part in these difficult times ahead to contribute to the solution, not the problem, and commit to leave to all the children a planet and its humanity on the mend.
Blessings this season to all people of goodwill regardless of the faith you chose to celebrate. And blessings to all of you who during this season choose to look once again at a world and its promise through the eyes of a child of hope who came to us so many centuries ago. Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas to you all. I hope you can rejoice in your many blessings.
On Saturday Dennis and I experienced a warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature. Our precious granddaughter, Reese Elizabeth Kottke, celebrated her first birthday. It is probably more accurate to say all the adults celebrated it for her. I am sure that as far as Reese was concerned it was just a day when the house filled with people, she got to wear a pink tu-tu and a silly head bow, and sugar was everywhere.
Poor Reese. She is already, well let's politely say, an active child. She has never had much sugar. She dove into a cake of her own that her Grandpa Tom baked for her (at her mother's request). Laura was heard to say, "This is my child on crack!" There were no naps that day and bedtime was quite protracted.
Reese really didn't have a chance with her blood lines from the Creighton, Lewis, and Zinn families. Each family can claim rather hyper souls. I leave out Kottke because her grandpa Gail Kottke is at times the only source of calm at a gathering of the families.
Laura and Jens worked very hard and had a wonderful celebration. I told Laura how much I remembered Laura's first birthday and wondered if she remembered it. She said, "Well of course not." My response was, "My point exactly. Let's relax a little bit!"
Dennis and I once again resisted the urge to buy a metal drum set for Reese (we already passed on it for grandson Will). I know I will not be able to hold out much longer. There is such a sense of fun in providing non-stop obnoxious noise to the households of one's children.
Aside from all the fun, the blessings of the day cannot be overstated. Just as when we were with Rob and Rebekah and Will, I stood again in wonder at God's gift of healthy happy children and the amazing blessing of grandchildren. Here Reese stood at the culmination of her first year on earth. She was loving, happy, eager, and nonstop observant of everything around her. To pause just a moment to take in the wonder of our own gift of life through the eyes of a child is truly one of the most humbling yet beautiful experiences of adult life. It holds a lesson that we all could use in these times of the worldwide mess we older folks have made.
As have parents and grandparents since the dawn of time I yearn for something better for all children. I wish we could all pause for just a moment, capture the beauty and wonder of our world through the eyes of a child. Perhaps we could then recommit ourselves to do our part in these difficult times ahead to contribute to the solution, not the problem, and commit to leave to all the children a planet and its humanity on the mend.
Blessings this season to all people of goodwill regardless of the faith you chose to celebrate. And blessings to all of you who during this season choose to look once again at a world and its promise through the eyes of a child of hope who came to us so many centuries ago. Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas to you all. I hope you can rejoice in your many blessings.
Monday, December 1, 2008
A Florida Thanksgiving
We can only hope you enjoyed Thanksgiving as much as Reese enjoyed her first. I am told my face had about as many sweet potatoes on my chin as Reese did. Such are the privileges of being young and growing old. 75 degrees and sunny. I recommend Thanksgiving in Florida.
The meal almost started off with a major disaster. We had all seated ourselves, and Laura was finishing off filling the water glasses. She was hurrying to put the glass pitcher on the kitchen counter when she caught her foot on the leg of Reese's high chair. She fell very fast and very hard. The glass pitcher hit the Florida tile floor and shattered. I thought she had fallen face first in the broken glass. My heart stopped.
By the grace of God she arched her back instead of hitting the floor with her face. Brian, a friend joining us for dinner, rushed to her side and picked her straight up out of the glass like a rag doll. He saved her from serious injury. She had a few shards of glass in her hands, but no other cuts.
Her shoulder was not as lucky. She has been in and out of doctors' offices. No tears or broken bones, just serious sprains. She cannot handle all the Reese chores, so Dennis and I get to help care for Reese. So sorry for Laura, but hurrah for us!
Yesterday found me making a call to my sister Melodie and David (fellow motor coach owners) to check if these things can blow over. The wind was roaring, tornado warnings, and I was pretty sure we were doomed. Dennis saw the tornado warnings and just said, "Oh, great." Thus is the steady hand of our relationship.
My next question after more than an inch of rain was, "Do these things float?" They do not, but we did not need to find out. All water eventually rushed into the Atlantic, and we were saved.
Dennis had always wanted a tin roof on the Spider Lake home. He got the same effect in the downpour. I remember years in our tents on Potato Lake as kids, sitting in the tent on our air mattresses to stay out of the water coming up through the tent floor. I recommend motor coaches.
Reese has her first birthday this Saturday, then we celebrate Dennis' birthday on the 11th. Christmas decorations must wait for these December birthdays. So we decorate on the 12th. Getting in the mood to decorate for Christmas in Florida is a challenge. Us northern kids still need a little snow to get in the mood.
Unwilling to take all the traditional cold that goes along with that mood stimulus, we somehow will find a way to be festive among the palms.
We hope all of you had a wonderful Thanksgiving. We have faith that next year we will have loads more to be so thankful for as our nation hopefully unites to pull out of this mess together.
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