no big deal

For a thousand years in your sight are like a day that has just gone by, or like a watch in the night. You sweep men away in the sleep of death; they are like the new grass of the morning- though in the morning it springs up new, by evening it is dry and withered. ~ from Psalm 90

This afternoon Bobby and I took advantage of the extended days for the Dead Sea Scrolls exhibit at the NC State Museum of Science. It was a little disappointing, (an hour long exhibit for six pieces of a scroll?!?) but at the same time enjoyable and informative. One of the neat things was the English translation of the scroll or papyrus on display. This particular one listed several passages, so I made a mental note to look this one up when I got home.

Sometimes I hate how quickly time passes and how little it seems I can accomplish. New Year's Goals? Yeah, maybe I'll actually get one accomplished, and if I do that's a tremendous accomplishment! I really like this passage from Psalm 90 (the above is the NIV translation, which I think is what they were using on the tablet), as it reminds me that God's view of time is not the same as mine. He asks for my best, not perfection on the world's timetable. And that is SO refreshing and freeing.

get your house in order

My grandmothers were very clean people. My mother thoroughly enjoys cleaning, though she doesn't quite hit the same level my grandmothers were on. I don't enjoy cleaning, but I do like things to be clean. I've almost given up on neatness.

One thing that they all instilled in me is the crazy concept that your house must be in order before you go somewhere big - like a vacation or something. After all, you could die in a car crash or have to go to the hospital, and then people would go into your house and find it in a terrible mess. Who wants to be remembered by that?

So up until this past year, I would sometimes be up almost all night not only trying to get things packed up, but also trying to totally clean house as well. Or should I say, make the house presentable?

The Chinese had a horrible superstition that my mother and grandparents would have enjoyed. Spring Festival (the Chinese New Year based on the lunar calendar) required EVERYTHING to be cleaned top to bottom before the new year began. After all, it was exceptionally bad luck to take old dirt into the new year. The ladies would clean like mad and almost wear themselves into a frazzle cleaning before the big event. And my students were mortified to find we didn't have such a custom. Many of them assumed that was why we took such a long Christmas break in America...to clean for the New Year.

I've thought about both of those traditions/customs off and on the past few days. Partly because I actually had several days off of work, thanks to Christmas and the weekend falling back to back, and I used some of that time to actually straighten up some things that were in desperate need of attention. I've actually cleaned out five kitchen drawers (and yes, I crazily tend to ignore the big things like sweeping and mopping and go for the minute details that no one else will see).

I was supposed to clean Grandma White's house the weekend before she entered the hospital for a routine surgery, but due to various reasons it didn't happen. She told me we got it clean enough the last time and it wasn't how she wanted to leave it but it would have to do. She had other things in the house to get in order. She died in the recovery room. My other Granny, whom we called Rea-Rea, died in her sleep. They said her house was meticulous. The dishes were washed and in the drainer with the cloth over them as she taught us, the broom was in the hallway, and as always, everything was spotless. They both had their houses in order. Me? I've left instructions that when I die no one is to enter the house until someone comes in to clean.

I don't think I'll ever reach the "cleanliness is next to godliness" mantra. I'll probably never once reach the Chinese level of cleanliness before a New Year. But I might actually manage to finish cleaning out all the kitchen cabinets. So if I die and you come to my house to weep and mourn, overlook the floors and dust, but you can check out my organized kitchen cabinets and pantry!

spoiled selfish

It's not often I get to go shopping (a.k.a. browsing), so when my sister called Friday and asked if I could meet her and the girls Friday I was thrilled. There were several things I wanted to look at, and thought this would be the great opportunity to have bonding time with my nieces.

hahahahahahaha What was I thinking?

Gone are the days when my nieces were predictable little people whose personalities were blatantly obvious and they were very easy to shop with and for. Deja vu to the '80's where I exasperated my mother to no end, only this time I was in the adult shoes. I didn't have any objection to anything the girls picked out or wanted to try on; they did a great job of choosing modest clothes that met their own personal sense of style. And there's part of the rub...I can't quite figure that style out. If I get the "look" right, the colors would be wrong, etc. They weren't rude or snobby about it, but I could tell by the facial expression that Aunt Monica was Soooo out of touch. And after almost three hours of standing in line, fighting traffic, and observing, and getting a headache, I had yet to look at one thing I was interested in. I noticed my sister didn't look for anything. Talk about an eye opener! I knew my life was scheduled, but I had never realized how, well, selfish it is. I enjoyed the day; I learned a few things about my nieces, but I also had to constantly focus my mind on the girls as people with individual wants, personalities, and needs. Today when I spent part of my time shopping my youngest niece, I was reminded again of the change, and realized how quickly that day is coming/has come when she will no longer be thrilled with what I predict she wants, for her developing personality will be trying out new things and changing.
I don't want to be a stuck-in-the mud person. But I also recognize for us to maintain a somewhat sane balance in life's rat race, we must stick to our rigid schedule. Bobby's disability and my stretch for some semblance of order demands it. And yet somewhere in this structure, I also recognize the need to flex myself in ways that aren't happening. People with large families develop that flexibility as there are multiple personalities to contend with. In our household, there's just two people to make happy: me and my husband. And most of the time that's fairly simple. Six weeks out of the year when the kids come, that dynamic changes considerably. And I struggle - bad. I want my life back in order, I want my job back in order, I want my relationship with my husband back in order....I want, I want, I want. We're supposed to be thinking about New Year's Resolutions, which I quit doing many years ago, but I'm contemplating that maybe some changes are in order. Having kids in the house for 6 weeks should make me realize how selfish I am...but a shopping trip? Guess I've got more to work on than I wanted to admit.

Christmas Eve Gift

A few years after my grandfather died, my grandmother stayed at our house to spend Christmas Eve with us (the entire extended family would come for Christmas day). She actually came up on the 23rd, and shocked me and my siblings by jubilantly waking us up Christmas Eve with a "Christmas Eve Gift!" shout. Come to find out, it was a tradition in my Mom's family when she was growing up, and evidently in my Grandmother's childhood home as well. There wasn't an actual gift given, but was just the game of seeing who could say it first. We thought it was funny, and it became a game we took on. The remainder of her life, we would always try to call her Christmas Eve, but she realized it had to be one of us or her other grandchildren, and started answering the phone with "Christmas Eve Gift!" It became a challenge to try and say it as soon as we thought she had the phone to her ear.

Two years ago, like this year, it was our turn to have Christmas in NC instead of AL. So I made my Christmas Eve phone calls, and took up Granny's habit of answering the phone that morning with "Christmas Eve Gift!" as Dad had already got me. Only halfway through my list of people to check off, Bobby's niece called. We don't have caller id, so I had no way of knowing who it was. There was a dead silence on the other end, and I quickly realized I had a non-AL relative on the other end. I started laughing and tried to explain, but got a drawn out, "OoooKay" as if to say "Aunt Monica is totally crazy." Bobby suggests we should get caller id just for Christmas Eve, and the crazy thing is: I actually briefly considered it!

So if you for some weird reason have to call me tomorrow and I answer with a loud "Christmas Eve gift!", the proper response is to say something along the lines of "Christmas Eve gift to you, too" or "I'll get you next year!" I'm really not expecting a gift.

So now you know!

the grinchies

Today is one of those days when I should be singing, "Joy, joy, joy JOY to the world!"

My cousin Sharon is still alive and has shown rapid improvements: she's off the ventilator, has had dialysis cut back to 2x a day, is totally and fully alert, has her memory, and is off most pain medicines.

The Bryan clan is going to Meadow restaurant and lights tonight.

I have my tree up and 2/3 of the nativity set unpacked.

2/3 of the Christmas cards are done.

1/3 of the dogs' underground fence has been rerouted.

I was able to work only one hour late to get everything I needed to get done finished.

I have tomorrow off, and we'll leave for Myrtle Beach as soon as I get us packed tomorrow.

A good chunk of the laundry is done.

So why do I feel like the Grinch?

tales you don't tell your Dad

Once upon a time and not so long ago, there was a very shaky pier. It was so shaky in fact, that at least one of its owners feared instead of fishing for fish, she might one day have to fish for her husband. So they called the people with magical tools and knowledge of pipes, wood, and water to come and majestically replace the battered and worn pier with new wood and a different platform.

The work began, and the waters receded from the sides of the pond.

The old majestic pier was chopped down, and tree roots and empty fishing nurseries appeared also known as old tires and barrels. Deer tracks became prevalent in the mud, and the scooped pools of renowned fishing beds were brought to light, revealing the hatcheries of numerous eggs from days gone by.

And the waters subsided some more, to the point that the building of a new and glorious pier could begin.

With the recession of the waters came a wondrous discovery: the stream that fed the pond.

Now mind you, this is not just any old stream. It is a stream that has managed to continue past the building of the nefarious beavers and their two dams. As seen below, dams are not the cutesy dwellings as seen in the Chronicles of Narnia, nor are the creatures themselves nice and cuddly. For the sake of time in this story, we'll just call them mutant rats. And these mutant rats take trees and limbs and strip the sides of a pond bare to build a monstrous mess. Then they pile mud in around the mess, which will then produce growths of grass and seedlings and will acquire layers of pine straw. Quite sturdy the ugly little constructions are. Which is part of the reason I've never understood my father's admonitions to stay away from such creatures and their habitats.

So on this particular beautiful December day, to celebrate for the first time ever in the history of our marriage the ability to walk the entire circumference of our property, I embarked across the beaver dam. Halfway across, a mud pit was encountered. Perhaps it was a flaw in the dam, or the entrance to the beaver's home where their ancestral skeletal remains or an old arthritic mutant rat was sleeping. Maybe beaver dams are really not that structurally sound and the supports just gave way beneath my feet. But whatever reason, one leg was stuck almost knee deep. I lean forward to pull my leg out in hopes of keeping my shoe on, and my other leg sinks to the knee. I feel the mud seeping in.

You know how people talk about their lives flashing before their eyes? Mine didn't, but I did have a multitude of thoughts flash through my brain at one time. If I keep trying to save my shoes, my hands are sinking in this as well. My camera costs more than my shoes do...keep your waist above water. There could be snakes in here. A beaver could be here! They have sharp teeth. These sticks could trap my leg. Bobby can't see this spot from the house, and it's another 45 minutes before he gets home. This water is cold. Would he hear me if I yelled? Why can't this just be water underneath instead of muck and wood? What's Bobby going to say when he finds out I've lost my new orthopedic shoes?

I escape, shoeless and breathless. I temporarily pause and debate crawling back and attempting to retrieve my shoes, but sanity overrides and I gingerly make my way back to the house.

And as if to mock me even more, the first tree within grasping reach is one the beavers have chewed. A plant grows from its top, giving it the appearance of a planter combined with a bird house - a symbol of home.

And with that simple touch of irony, I go home and do what I should have been doing in the first place: putting up Christmas decorations.

Monday Morning Reflections

There's times when I don't have a camera, but there are certain images ingrained in my brain. Here's my mental scrapbook from yesterday:

Photo #1: Jessica Reese standing and rocking Baby Jesus backstage to the beat of We Three Kings Of Orient Are.

Photo #2: Josh McLean grinning, looking at his costume, then drawing his arms back into a karate stance.

Photo #3: Justin turning his head left and right to see what's happening around him while I'm trying to place his headpiece on his head.

Photo#4: Jasmine asking me for a candycane because my "daddy" wants one. I asked her if it was for the guy in the wheelchair, and she nodded and said, "yes, for your Daddy." I laughed and told her that was my husband. She then insisted that he eat it, which he couldn't because it had paper on it. Josh McLean stepped in to help, and then got in trouble for having sticky hands! Serves Bobby right for picking on kids about their candy!

Photo #5: The primary girls going through the hand motions of Away in a manger, and the boys belting out their parts.

Photo #6: Dress up time in the nursery.

Photo #7: Jonathan's facial expressions as I teased him about his Christmas list while he helped me set up communion.

Photo #8: Michelle's smile as she calmed down.

Photo #9: My finally up and ghastly lit Christmas tree. I ran out of lights and mistakenly bought a strand of colored lights instead of clear. 3/4 of my tree has clear lights, and the top part has multi-colors. But I'm too tired and ready to get it done and over with to go back and redo. And it will probably save me time because i won't be as inclined to sit and smile and look at it.