I don’t make new year resolutions.  I’ve rarely kept the ones I’ve made while younger, and I don’t need guilt laying its blanket on my shoulders.  I have no patience for what ifs anymore.  Nor for regrets.  Life is a mystery and it is short.  Filled with uncertainties and history refusing to be buried, it is violent and predatory and wicked.  Yet at the same time, it is so beautiful it takes my breath away.

I have learned an amazing thing in 2009.  From men and women and you, dear readers, who could have taught me quite the opposite.  I am only as powerless as I think I am.  Whatever may come my way, I am the mistress of my reaction.  And so I thank you.  As I enter a glittery and sparkly new year, my intention is to live fully.  Without guilt or hesitation.  And without fear.  Such I also wish for you.

Have a blessed 2010!  And may you grow to your fullest potential, surpassing even your expectations.

For me the year 2009 has been one of the saddest years yet.  People I have loved have died- and I am not talking about Michael Jackson and the handful of celebrities that happened to share the earth at the same time as I.  I am talking about men, women and children I have met, I have hugged, I have cried with, and I have laughed with.  Relatives and friends that have made an impact on my life more profound than a song or book or discovery.  Real people that struggled with stomach cancer, pancreatic cancer, breast cancer, liver cancer, brain tumors.  People that have struggled with real fears not imaginary, who have been loving to the very end, who have placed their families and loved friends above their imminent death, who have been unselfish, who have refused to live with a “poor little me, let’s everyone be sad for me” mentality.

I shall forever miss them all.  Daughters barely out of high school, newly wed husbands, mothers, fathers, grandparents. Their laughter, the spark in their eyes, their sense of humor, the profound, unshakeable faith in the love of their God.  And I pray that peace descend upon their families.  Peace for the parents, peace for the siblings, peace for the offspring.  May 2010 bring them joy.  Deep and pure and real.

I am including a piece I wrote a few days before one of my eldest friends passed away. Please take an extra minute and read it, honoring the lives of those who have passed.

Embedded in Time

I have a few friends who are well into their eighties; women who have lived their lives thoroughly and enjoyed the amassed daily moments to their fullest extent.  I love these women for what they are.  There is wisdom in their advice, a sense of humor in their actions.  They’ve come to terms with the destruction life has in store. Physical health and beauty deteriorating, husbands and friends lost to cancer, strokes or alzheimers, children and dear ones far away, their bodies betraying them daily.  But their kindness, their compassion, their love survived every treachery and evolved into a beauty transcending the physical.

I know they have fears.  Whenever I see them upset at their lack of control over their bodies, they fear for their dignity. For their self-respect and the respect, or lack of, others have for them. I like to remind them that their self-esteem need not suffer because their bodies fail. They are more than that. More than fragile bones and decrepit muscles. They are the light in the eyes, the smile on the lips, the love they exude.

Some have come to terms with death encroaching, others have not. But, I don’t believe it is death they fear, or maybe not as much; what they fear is their disappearance; the disappearance of their voices, their laughter, their memory.  The fear of becoming a dusty one-dimensional photo. The cessation of their story.

And then the fear of eternity. Who is immune to that?  All around, so vast and unfathomable. Like grains of sand or stars in the night sky. And all that had been left undone and unsaid. All the mundane and not so mundane choices made daily that may or may not have purified the soul. Or whether their faith will pay off and they will be in the presence of God and their loved departed ones, or rotting away, first their flesh and then their bones.

And yes, for some the fear of death as well. Of what happens at that moment when this earthly life ends and the other begins. That transition from the mortal to the immortal. The termination of one and the beginning of another. How will it be? What will they feel? Where will their soul go and how will it get there?

Yet, despite all these thoughts in their minds and in mine, I marvel at their depth, at the lives they’ve created, at their multi-dimensional facets, the little glimpses into the girls they were and the women they’ve become. So graceful, caring, resilient.  And I look forward to my old age, not in despair but in hope; the hope that I’ll become like one of them, enduring and persevering.

What I wish most for all my readers, is that the journey in the year to come is one undertaken in good health, presence of mind, and the company of loved ones.  God bless you all!

early christmas morn

I apologize for the poor quality of the photo.  It was taken with my iPhone rather than with a good quality camera, because a good quality camera does not offer the convenience of an iPhone.  Or fit in my back pocket.  And also, since it was around 3:00am on Christmas morn, it’s probably a good thing that it isn’t too clear.

Christmas Eve day dawned foggy and cold.  I awoke before the darkness lifted though, as I was in charge of the family lunch and the house was a mess from the previous day’s baking with my mom, sister, and husband.  The kitchen was a nightmare, with pans piled on every surface!

I cooked and cleaned and washed and laundered and set the table, and before long everyone arrived, laden with goodies.  We sat and ate and talked and laughed and ate and drank some more.  The lunch stretched into the dinner hour.  Noticing the lateness and marveling at how quickly time passes, we put a stop to all the fun and festivities and prepared ourselves for church. On Christmas Eve we always go to church.

And, oh how beautiful it was!  The brass band blew away on their trombones, their tubas and their horns.  The one hundred person choir performed O Holy Night and Handel’s Messiah, and it truly felt as though the angels of heaven descended on earth with their tidings of great joy.  My spine was tingling and my hair stood on end, from the beauty of it all.

After church we hurried home and changed into comfortable clothing.  It was time to make our rounds to the Christmas Eve parties already in session.  We didn’t linger long for we wanted to be at the party where traditional carols and carolers would be.  And so we went to my friend’s beautiful estate high up in the wooded hills.  The food was amazing and in abundance.  The company awesome!  Even Santa paid a visit, handing out bonbons to the wide-eyed children.  There we stayed caroling and listening to visiting carolers, eating, socializing, and telling stories until 4:30 Christmas morning.

The kids who had been playing with the other 20 or so children, fell asleep the moment we put them in the car.  And we did too, just as soon as we brushed our teeth and tumbled in bed, 15 minutes later.

my darling babies on Christmas Day

Christmas Day was quiet.  We got up around noon, opened our presents, and had our breakfast.  We read, watched movies and took long naps.  The skies were beautiful and blue, sunshine streaming brightly, but we just ventured out for a little bit as the wind was quick and sharp.  At night we read in front of the fire and fell asleep in a pile on the bed, the kids tucked in between us.

And so today, this second day of Christmas we celebrated some more, and tomorrow and the next we will too.  The presents that most children would receive on just one day are spread out until the twelfth night (January 5th), the eve of Epiphany.  On the 6th, on that Three King’s Day, we will have a special cake, wearing silver and gold (foil) crowns, searching in the richness of the cake for the King’s ring.

Then the season will conclude.  Our hearts will be lighter, our spirits richer, our bodies probably fatter.  But who cares?  Lent isn’t too far off.

I am working on a huge project which has taken my creativity hostage. Some new thoughts, but the majority of this is a re-post.

I spend my days looking into mirrors others hold up. Am I doing the right thing?  Am I saying the right thing?  Am I wearing the right thing?  Am I a good enough wife, mother, friend, sister, daughter, neighbor?

So much concern with driving the right car and living in the right house. This anxiety to please.  To become what those around me want me to be. I’ve become enslaved to the opinions of others.  And aren’t I taking this inane obsession of comparing myself to others, a little too far?  As if all that matters is that I am approved and liked and put somewhere on a pedestal. The top of the invisible hierarchy is a nice place to be.  But it’s safe and boring and exclusive.  And it isn’t me.

But what is? I hardly recognize my true self these days.  Don’t get me wrong.  What I am: wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend, I enjoy to the utmost. But I feel I have given up so much of that life inside me, that life that hasn’t had a chance to breathe, that life that hardly got to see the light of day.  And for what exactly?

I am reminded by something I’ve read in The Zahir by Paulo Coelho and it goes like this: No one should ask themselves: Why am I unhappy?  The question carries with it the virus that will destroy everything.  If we ask that question, it means we want to find out what makes us happy.  If what makes us happy is different than what we have now, then we must either change once and for all, or stay as we are, feeling even more unhappy.

Not an easy choice to make.  How do you tell your husband that you’re ready to sell everything, get the kids out of school and travel the world? How do you explain to your friends that you’re truly happier in a 1000 square foot house (provided that it’s gorgeous, of course), without seeing their eyebrows reach their hairline? How do you tell those who feel so entitled to making the decisions for you, to step back and let you act like the adult you are? And how do you tell your parents that all the questions they didn’t bother to answer raised even bigger doubts?

I am a little afraid of hostility, disappointment and lost friendships. But I need to free my true self somehow before I asphyxiate on the banality of the everyday.  And I need to find a way to do it.  Soon.

That’s what I said last year around this time. And still, I am stuck. Because roots grow deep, I guess.

(Huge Congrats to Karen of Surviving Motherhood for winning the $25 giftcard giveaway!)

perky boobies

One of my daily indulgences is stopping by my favorite blogs while the morning is still in its infancy and my little angels sound asleep.  I have all my favorite sites bookmarked, and am so thrilled when I notice that there is a new posting.  After our conversations I leave feeling amazed, happy, a bit more cultured, and a better woman.  Or more correctly, a woman better equipped to take care of her house, her kids, her hubby, herself, and her job.

I first came across Lisa Borgnes Giramonti’s blog in the spring of this year, and immediately felt a connection. It could be perhaps that we both share some of that European sentimentality and affinity to tradition, or perhaps because she is so naturally chic and stylish and my little self wants to be just like her.  Whichever it is, I am glad and will not question it. After all, I benefit from her natural graciousness and elegance on a daily basis, and often find myself wondering just how she would approach a certain design dilemma or dinner seating issue.

She is the ultimate designer, hostess, writer, and artist. I mean really, how many of you like to spend your time embroidering? I certainly didn’t until I saw Lisa’s work, and fell under the spell of this form of documenting the passage of time. She made this long-lost art, chic again. Check these three posts out: http://abloomsburylife.blogspot.com/2009/01/embroidery-apartment-in-nyc.html this: http://abloomsburylife.blogspot.com/2009/01/embroidery-fabulous-mitch.html and this: http://abloomsburylife.blogspot.com/2009/02/embroidery-lords-prayer.html. I absolutely adore them, and her, and I don’t know how she manages to make something so time consuming seem so pleasant.

And… Lisa has given me permission to say that something MAJOR is in the works with her embroidery, which thrills me because I can boast that I knew her way before she was a world famous billionaire artist.  So leave me a comment and then head on over and check out her site.  You’ll love it!

When I was a child my favorite Christmas story was The Story of Holly and Ivy, written by Rumer Godden. It is a lovely story about an orphan child wishing for a doll and a grandmother, and also the story of a doll wishing for a dear child’s arm around her.  My sisters and I loved it so much we kept checking it out of the library over and over.  As I got older I forgot about the magical story of a wish coming true, until I got pregnant with my son and started on making my dreams of a children’s library a reality.

For months and months I couldn’t find it anywhere.  Finally Powell’s Books, my favorite local bookstore, located a used copy for me.  And wouldn’t you know it, but a few years later there was a new printing of the book, and suddenly they were everywhere.

A new book I am adding this year is Jane in Winter by Elizabeth Wix.  I just ordered this fairy tale and can’t wait for it to get here.  Evil queen, forests, children, winter!  My favorite kind of story!  You can read more about it and order it from the author’s own site: #mce_temp_url#

Also, check out my friend Michelle’s Christmas blog: #mce_temp_url# Michelle loves books!  She’s got a collection close to 2000 of them, not counting the Christmas ones.  I’d love to spend a weekend in there just looking around.  Besides that she is one of the best book reviewers out there, and Christmas is her favorite holiday.

Following is what I consider to be essential reading:

The Gift of the Magi     O. Henry

The Fir Tree     Hans Christian Andersen

A Miserable, Merry Christmas     Lincoln Steffens

The Legend of the Christmas Rose     Selma Lagerlof

The Birth Of Christ     St. Luke 2:1-16

The Three Wise Men     St. Matthew 2:1-14

A Pint of Judgment     Elizabeth Morrow

The Miraculous Staircase     Arthur Gordon

The Story of Holly and Ivy     Rumer Godden

The Little Match Girl     Hans Christian Andersen

Jane in Winter   Elizabeth Wix

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe     C.S. Lewis

The Mitten   retold by Jan Brett

The Gingerbread     retold by Jan Brett

Toot and Puddle: I’ll Be Home for Christmas     Holly Hobbie

Christmas in the Big Woods     Laura Ingalls Wilder

Mr. Willowby’s Christmas Tree     Robert Barry

Eloise at Christmastime     Kay Thompson

Are your favorites on my list?  If not, what are they?

This is a re-post with very few changes…

My earliest memories of Christmas are all involved around this delicious recipe from my mother.  She used to make platters of it, then cut it up, roll it into two inch long pieces and wrap it in crinkled paper and foil and hang it on the fresh cut Christmas tree my father had just brought in.  Also hanging on the tree were precious oranges, walnuts in their shells, prettily wrapped candy, cookies, and real candles dripping wax.  We lived in communist Romania back then and didn’t have strings of lights, electric trains circling the tree, nor ornaments weighing down the branches.  Life was much more simple, much more real.  Maybe because we lacked what we now take for granted, any unexpected treat was such a luxury and such a joy.

Eagerly we anticipated the carolers we knew were coming anytime between nightfall and the crack of dawn on that Christmas Eve night. We dressed in our finest, helped set out the pastries, the cookies, and the little fancy sandwiches my mother, my aunts, and my grandmother had worked on for the last several days.  The best china was brought out, for it was a perfect opportunity to show it off.  Butter, sugar, chocolate and coffee were precious commodities hoarded throughout the year, and only used for special occasions: Christmas, New Year, Easter, birthdays, weddings, christenings, and funerals.

The house filled up with guests who reminisced all through the night, feasting on sausages, creamed potatoes and delectable desserts.  The kids got to stay up too, and usually there were so many of us that when we couldn’t keep our eyes open anymore, every available surface or parent’s lap held a softly snoring child.

725 grams (3 cups) powdered milk

5 tablespoons good quality cocoa powder unsweetened

500 grams (2 cups) sugar

1 cup water

2 sticks unsalted butter cubed and at room temperature

1 tablespoon (or more) rum

1 cup roasted walnuts or hazelnuts (optional)

Coat a large cookie sheet with non-stick spray, or if you are seriously self-indulging, butter.  Have it ready and close by.

Sift the powdered milk and cocoa powder into a bowl, and combine with a whisk until well blended.  On medium heat make a syrup of sugar and water by pouring the cup of water into a deeper pan and gradually whisking in the sugar.  Don’t forget to stir!  Let it simmer a few minutes and check readiness by placing a teaspoon of it into a glass of water.  If it holds together it is ready, if not keep stirring! Add the blended powdered milk and cocoa and mix with a wooden spoon until it’s well incorporated.  If it is too thick, you can add water, but only a little at a time.  Work those muscles in your arms until it resembles a smooth chocolate frosting, otherwise you get air bubbles, or a mouthful of powder. Add the rum and the nuts, take it off the heat and stir in the cubed butter until all melted.  With the help of a spatula spread it on the prepared cookie sheet and let it cool at room temperature.  It will harden as it cools.  Enjoy it!  I guarantee it won’t last long.

By the way, I have no idea on the number of servings.  And since I have never made or eaten the American version of fudge I don’t know how closely it resembles it, in either recipe or taste.

Also:  HUGE congratulations to Autumn of#mce_temp_url# for winning this week’s $25.00 giveaway to Target.  Now leave me a comment and go check out her site.  Don’t forget any comment from today on qualifies you for the next $25.00 giftcard giveaway.

A big thanks to all of you for your good wishes and advice. I am feeling lots better, although I don’t want to give up all the sweet loving attention and pampering that had been coming my way, yet I fear I must for they are predicting snow and even possibly an ice storm, for which I should get our cozy nest ready, and the pantry stocked up.

I’ve been thinking of writing something Christmassy because I have a collection of magical Christmas memories all waiting to be dusted off and brought into the spotlight. Shiny, glittery, and bright. Just like Christmas itself. My thoughts, however, linger on one of the local news stories, and try as I might, I cannot shake off the need to write a bit about it. Added on to all that, is a comment made by a friend yesterday morning about all the horrible things done in the name of religion, and it got me to thinking.

Is there one thing which causes more damage to a group of people than religious indoctrination? I doubt it. History is witness enough. Yet it seems that we don’t learn and allow ourselves to fall prey to it again and again. For those who come from one culture into another, it is only natural to seek out those who share the same traditions and speak the same language. Something familiar in the vast sea of unfamiliarity. Something that smells like home. And even if one doesn’t share the same ideals and wishes to be more socially liberal, there are all sorts of cultural barriers which must first be understood in order to be overcome. So one gravitates to what’s familiar.

Playing guilt like a violin, such churches were and are dictatorships really, imposing tyranny in the name of Christianity, while demanding blind faith and calling it, trust in God.  I know this to be true.  For a brief period in time it had been part of my reality.

I was watching yesterday how these parents of seven children were standing before the judge, defending their actions of whipping the backs of their teenage children until they were a bloody mess, asserting that the Bible demanded that the rod not be spared. And for what? Because their daughters had dared cut their hair when the church demanded that the hair stay long. I felt like crying for their children, and I felt like crying for them. Because while I know that monsters exist, I also know that these two adults have been so brainwashed that there was no reasoning with them. An intervention is needed. Perhaps prison will do the trick. Perhaps the complete separation from the claws of their cult is needed to bring them out of their stupor. Because they actually believe that God wants them to act thus.  Which reminds me of this great quote from Donald Miller:

The scary thing about religion is that people actually believe God is who they think He is. They have Him all figured out, mapped out. A bunch of Catholics think of him in one way, and a bunch of Baptists in another. The list goes on and on; and it makes me wonder if God created us in His image or if we created Him in ours.

Listening to the judge and watching his face, I knew that he felt the same thing. How does one reason with the unreasonable? I do not know. But it is worth a thought, for it is truly frightening to be prey to someone’s fanaticism.

Apparently I work too many hours, have horrible eating habits (too much chocolate, coffee and pastries), and sleep too little.  For the second time, in as many weeks, I am sick again.  I’ve had the flu shot and the H1N1 shot, to no avail.  I have no idea what exactly is the matter, as I dread going in to see the doctor just to be told to go home and rest.  But my right ear hurts so, I feel like cutting it off, and I who have never smoked, have a smoker’s raspy voice.

It’s been sunny, yet very cold.  At night the wind scratches at the windows and sends the kids to our bed, where they snuggle in wide eyed, clutching at the covers and twining their legs with ours.  And although I am sick and should know better, I love the warmth of their little bodies and let them stay, only to awaken hours later my limbs all numb, hubby gone down the hallway to sleep in the empty room.

My hours awake are spent in bed, looking through my journal for favorite recipes,

pasting cutouts of images from my favorite magazines,

opening my mail (yay, Christmas presents have arrived!),

and reading this lovely book I have first heard about on #mce_temp_url# in early October.  By the way, if you haven’t been, go visit Pamela and Edward pronto.  You’ll be transported into a magical, enchanted land of beauty and wonder.  Pamela throws the most fabulous dinner parties with her songwriter husband and their two lovely dogs, in the beautiful home she has designed herself, as she is an interior designer as well as a poet and a curator of the disappearing art of living gracefully.

Finally, I will be enjoying a bowl of this delicious stew prepared by my darling hubby, with a chunk of crunchy French bread, at the kitchen table surrounded by the dear faces of my family.  I adore the primitive taste of bone marrow.  There’s something so satisfying in it’s goodness.

And then off to bed for sleep and another day of the same, until I feel better.  Stay safe and healthy!