Merry Christmas! Here in the high desert of Colorado – and in many other parts of Colorado – we are enjoying a white Christmas.
Having a new pair of hiking boots gives freedom and scope for the imagination about as well as would a new set of tires (I have one out of four); but, my boots can take me places the Subaru can’t go. Maybe these boots will start walking and walk all over the world.
The trouble with being alone and poor at Christmas is; folks almost expect you to feel sorry for yourself. Not being accustomed to RSVP pity parties, I threw myself wholeheartedly into as many Christmas activities as I could find. Just because I am single with a starved bank account is no reason to avoid Christmas.
Fortunately, I do have friends and extended family. I made it a point to accept the invitations that came my way; the GJHS choir extravaganza and the Schumann Singers‘ Joy to the World.
Free is not to be overlooked. The first Friday Spirit of Christmas in Downtown Grand Junction featured carolers of every type and age on every corner and free carriage rides. Being wanted somewhere else to spend time with grandkids, I did not stand in line for the carriage.
Though my sparkling new dance shoes were lost on Halloween, I still attended the Teddy Bear Ball at La Puerta dance studio. Except for the fun of bringing a gift for the Salvation Army, that was a bit ineffective for conjuring up Christmas spirit. No bear hugs. I don’t know how to tango. My favorite leads were too few to go around.
But then, only half way through the month, came December 15 and with it my Christmas spirit and the thought that whether December 25th arrived or not, I had enjoyed a successful Christmas.
I shall try to assume the proper accent for each account.
From your local community news reporter: A good time was had by all at the annual ladies luncheon at the home of Coni Wolfe (Mrs. Steven Wolfe) on Surface Creek near Cedaredge. For the two weeks preceding the luncheon, Mrs. Wolfe had busied herself about the kitchen preparing delectable treats including cranberry jalapeño cheese spread, pecan tarts and sugar cookies. When the guests arrived, a choice of hearty and tasty soups simmered on the stove, along with apple cider. Several of the guests carried with them a bag of some sort. Items in the bag turned out to be borrowed books returned or exchanged for additional literary reading. Women in attendance included retired and non-retired teachers from Palisade and Grand Junction High Schools along with a few old friends and new business acquaintances of Coni Wolfe. Many of the ladies were heard to remark how nice it was to see each other again.
An Idol Nutcracker critic: “I expected a lot from you when I saw your name on the program. A lot. You’re not just any old high school boy. You have a history of dance and trophies won in competitions throughout the region. But, frankly, your lifts looked a little weak and unsure. I was surprised, you being a BMX rider and all that. You had that spotlight stolen from you, stolen by veteran professionals from New York City. But, we’re still expecting great things from you a few years down the line.”
Yes, Saturday December 15, I enjoyed two big scoops of Christmas. My cousin was her generous, hospitable self. I had a kind and interesting travel partner for the trip to Cedaredge. The Grand Junction Symphony Orchestra members played to their potential in the orchestra pit and the professional dancing and acting on stage was enough to take your breath away. CMU students AJ Labrum and Sofia Robinson were especially memorable in roles dancing as Arabian Coffee and Dew Drop Fairy.
May all your Christmases be WONDERFUL! This one is turning out to be white.
Thanksgiving. It’s hard holiday to beat for generosity and the mix of food, family, and fellowship.
There are some wise folks who choose Thanksgiving as their favorite holiday; and why not? An attitude of gratitude boosts everything about life to a higher level, positive and productive.
Oh, I know; particularly if you are a woman, you have spent the last week baking, planning, running to the grocery store – but, isn’t it wonderful to feel the wind in your face, to rise to the occasion – even to be thankful that you do not have to cook like this every day of the year?
As a child, I stood by and tried to help with the Thanksgiving Eve grinding of cranberries and stuffing of the turkey as promising aromas filled the kitchen. I learned how it must be done, by watching. As a too young bride exiled to Germany, I was determined to keep up the tradition, though I bloodied my knuckled trying to grind cranberries on a cheese grater and had to remove all the racks in the apartment size oven just to roast a pint sized turkey in a two quart lasagna dish.
Later, I stood at a kitchen sink in Texas, flanked by my two younger children as we gathered and mixed all the necessary side dishes for meals shared with friends. I not only enjoyed those years, I lived to write about them.
Over the years, we have feasted on small turkeys, large turkeys, smoked turkeys, bonus turkeys, food basket turkeys; turkeys roasted in a conventional oven, wood stove oven, motel oven, and even in a cast iron dutch oven over a campfire.
Last year Andrea was with me for Thanksgiving break. Together we knocked out the pumpkin pies and then toted them to Grandma’s house and Kevin’s house for the feast.
For the past few years, I have been the spare tire, the single who brings a side-dish and is welcome at the table anyway. My house is small and my work schedule changeable, so I greatly appreciate the hospitality. I will never forget the Thanksgiving in 2010 when I worked the register at Safeway until late afternoon. Throwing on my coat and rushing out the door to catch the bus, I was hailed in the parking lot by my cousin who tucked me into the jeep with his mother and took me home for a feast.
This year, the Thanksgiving spirit has been pervasive. Facebook is littered daily with the confetti of thankfulness. Shoppers and store clerks alike seem to have entered into the spirit of the season. Yesterday the bank teller transacted my deposit with a look of happy anticipation, “Are you cooking?” she asked. “Not this year. Going home to Mama’s, “ I replied. “And you?” “Yes, for twelve people,” she confided with delight. “I’ve got it all planned. Happy Thanksgiving!”
Blessings on your day. I’ve gotta run. I am expected across town with my sweet potato casserole.
Perhaps it’s the fact that eight months ago, 
I moved back to the town I grew up in. Or, maybe I have high school on my mind because I anticipate a milestone class reunion this summer. Then again, I did get a call from a fellow Sweet Adeline the other day who insists we sang soprano together in a capella choir. She was a junior my senior year. Mostly, I suppose, it is because there is something familiar about the name of my newest adult piano student. Something niggles in the back of my mind. What am I missing? What incident from my past should I connect with that name?”
Whatever originated the impulse; as I readied a couple of boxes of books for storage yesterday, I stopped and took a trip down memory lane in my high school annual. Once again, I am mortified by my poor showing. Had I no sense of fashion? No self-confidence? Even in high school, I was musically adept; student directing the choir, acting as rehearsal pianist for the tenors and basses, beginning my apprenticeship as piano teacher. Musically talented, yes; but, in every other area – a nerd, unpopular, un-sought-after.
I graduated with a fairly large class – over 400. The class before me was also large, and the class that followed. Given that it is a small world after all, and that I have spent many intermittent years in my old home town, it should not seem strange that I occasionally run into former classmates in the social and business world. I have attended church with a handful, and participated on worship teams with others. In my early thirties, I even dated the class president from a preceding year. Thankfully, he did not remember me; had never known me, in high school.
I always cringe when I know a renewed acquaintance will go back to the yearbooks and see me as I was: girl nerd poster child. I wonder, do others also shrink from this possibility? They, too, may have changed in the intervening years. So, last night, I lingered with the yearbook, looked in their faces. There are a few whom I would not want to meet on a dark street. Woe to me if I did not remember them from high school and take necessary caution. Some character traits do not grow better with time. There are others who, like me, were not completely formed by the time we graduated high school. It did not yet appear what we would be.
Others, even in high school, bid fair to succeed – the girl who was always smiling and friendly to me, whom I always thought a snob, simply because she was a cheerleader? She became a senator. I found my Sweet Adeline colleague in the choir picture. Though I sing high tenor with the Sweet Adelines, I was an alto in high school. Happily, I think she is mistaking me for a more popular girl who shares the first name by which I am now known. And my new piano student? Standing right next to me in the a capella choir picture! Yes, it is a small world after all.
Woah! Spit-shined boots! This is my own private cliché. This is my exclamation when I experience that darkest moment that is just before dawn and I know by experience I will soon see the light at the end of the tunnel. 
Spit-shined boots happened to me again this morning. In my capacity as the new member of Musique, I was diligently, and exuberantly, rehearsing the tenor part for a song that has become one of my favorites. I have thought for a week now that I had the notes down and the memorization in the bag; yet, as I sang with confidence, I began messing up here; forgetting a word over there. Suddenly, the light dawned. Yes! Spit- shined boots!
I learned about spit-shined boots in 1972, from my first husband who was a stract trooper, in the army. Basically, this means he was strict about every last detail of appearance and behavior. Infatuated, starry-eyed, young bride that I was; I sat with him weekly as he spit-shined oxfords and boots. Under his instruction, I learned to do the process myself. Cotton ball, Kiwi, water. Kiwi, water. Kiwi water. Water. Kiwi water. water. My shoulders ached, my eyes were glazed. Just when I was exhausted, he would say, “more water.” Ah, I could see the shine developing under the cotton ball! We were almost done! Then, he would say, “more Kiwi.” The first time this happened, despair came crashing down on me. I so wanted to be done with it. With experience, I came to understand that more Kiwi did not mean I was starting over. More Kiwi is the final polish before the dazzling shine.
The tough moments in life; the times I have already invested too much to go back, but I despair of ever seeing the success of completion? Those are the times I encourage myself with spit-shined boots!
As far as I know, I am in excellent health for a fifty year old – and I’m 57. But, think
with me for a few minutes; what would change in my life if I was told I had one year to live? Gone would be the long-term goals. In their place, would remain stark priorities; things that could realistically be completed in 12 months if I stepped up the pace. I could not afford to waste any time. My bucket list would be overhauled from, “someday I would like to have a Phd. in Music,” to “what information and knowledge do I need, right now, to make better music?” “I want to be published, and achieve a certain amount of acclaim,” becomes, “I want to write my heart, get it all on paper, for the benefit of those who follow after and the great conversation.” Suddenly, it would be clear to me exactly what I wanted to do and what was important.
People who have only a year to live spend lots more time with family. They renew old friendships and polish up their relationships, making sure all those stories that need to be told are told; that all the words that need to be said are said; that all the missing pieces are put in place. I want to make sure to fulfill my mission, complete my calling, fulfill my heart’s desire, keep my soul in excellent heath by performing lots of music, walking, writing; and reading what philosophers and sages have written. If I had only a year, I would want to maintain good health and an attractive appearance, so that I might go out with a bang, sail into port grandly. To that end, I will cut my hair, iron my clothes, choose my wardrobe carefully. But, one year is not long enough for braces or facelifts. I want to invest in life-long friendships and loving and tending of family. There is no time to waste on pursuing or flirting with new relationships.
I will endeavor to live 2012 as though it is my last year. I will invest more time and soul in family, music, writing, spiritual and emotional health, and friendships. While I want to live as though I have been given only a year; I am not one who can live as though there is no tomorrow. Inevitably the doing of these things – travel to be with family for milestones and memories, daily needs of food and shelter- present financial challenges.
I want to be about the business of putting my house in order; settling my debts; reconciling my accounts; mending fences. A year of life is short. There will be challenges. Never-the-less, I have decided to live 2012 as though it is my one and only year to live.
A year ago, I was living 1100 miles away from where I am today, working as a checker
at Safeway in north Seattle, Washington. I was also writing on the side, practicing my keyboard in my cousin’s guest bedroom, and walking two blocks to the library six out of seven days a week to check my email, job hunt, and keep up with my friends on facebook.
A lot can change in 365 days. I am now living in a beautiful little adobe house on the edge of public lands and walking trails, a few miles outside of Grand Junction, Colorado. I am working full-time as a family focused personal assistant. I am self-employed, ideally suited to be a personal assistant both by education and experience; and my current client is very dear to me.
But, what about the 365 days in-between?
In January, I went to work for a medical anatomical laboratory as a lab assistant, moved to a charming studio apartment in Edmonds, Washington; fell in love with the sea and decided to stay there forever. I took dance classes with my cousins and some friends I had known since junior high. Eventually, I stumbled on a senior citizen band and became the piano player by default. It had always been my plan to fly my children up to visit and maybe interest them in collaborating on some sort of music business. Or, maybe, I would just make enough money to travel to see them all the time. Abruptly, in June, my job came to an end. Not wanting to leave, I began beating the streets for get-by jobs, and interviewing for positions in my area of interest. My son Kevin; hearing that I was going back for a third interview at a preschool in need of a music teacher; communicated that he was in need of a personal assistant whose duties would encompass preschool, childcare, photo/video shoots, and various music business. Once again, I packed all my belongings in my Subaru (and on top) and drove the 1100 miles back to Colorado. Being a family focused personal assistant to a music and media oriented client is a perfect fit. Like any good personal assistant, I simply keep things organized and do all the things Kevin would be called on to do around the home and office if he were not out serving clients and making money. When he has a shoot out-of-town, and decides to take his wife Sarah as assistant; I stay round the clock instead of going home at night. If Sarah is doing books, I entertain the kids. If Sarah is engaged with the kids, I go assist with the video shoots or take care of office filing.
The most memorable highlight of the year was our family working vacation to Southern California. Andrea managed a week off college. Philip flew from Ft Collins to Las Vegas to join us. We spent five days together at a beach house in Dana Pointe. And we…took a lot of pictures, of course! What a grand vacation with all three of my children and all my grandchildren.
My baby is turning 21. In many ways, he has been behaving like an adult for several months. He has his own house share, friends and a job. For transportation, he rides a bicycle several miles to work. Though he has not lived under my care for over two years, I still worry over him. The other day, finding he was about to ride his bike to work in the snow, and feeling helpless from a distance of 400 miles, I urged, “Well, wear a helmet then; or, or do something safe.” He laughed.
How can you know, when you send your boy off to college, whether he will come back to you and live in your nest; or whether you have released him forever and he will never be your little baby again?
How can you grasp, when he packs his unique clothes, his skateboard and guitar in his car; hugs you and goes out the door; that everything you have done for the past 18 years; every opportunity you have provided, every event taxi you have driven, every long philosophical conversation, every creative project; has been preparing him to go away from you? To be an adult? To be independent? To not need you.
Over the weeks and months, it begins to sink in. You start to acknowledge. If he wants to see you, it is because he wants to spend time with you for who you are, not because he needs you for life sustenance. He has learned to take responsibility for himself.
If he comes under your roof again, it will be because he wants to; not because he needs you. If he dines at your table, rests his head on your pillows, and snuggles in the quilts and bed of his childhood, it will be because he chooses to be there, not because of your authority or manipulation.
If he calls for advice, it is because it is your particular view and voice he wants to hear; not because he desperately needs counsel. He has made a few quality friends over the years. He speaks with grace and respect, adult to adult, with all those he meets-including you. He takes responsibility for his own support, housing, food. Maybe these character traits, now visible,have to do with the opportunities you were able to give him.
Watching a son become an adult is both a joyful and melancholy occasion. You somehow feel you ought to be there; ought to be a big part of his life and celebration. After all, you were a super big player in his birth 21 years ago.
Yet his desire to spend time with you for who you are, his mother, for better or worse; will have a lot to do with the relationship you formed with him for those 18 years you were together. It may hinge on whether you were able to accept him for who he was, to find and further his dreams and goals rather than locking him into your own. He will like to visit with you because you like and accept who he is and who he is meant to be. Because, if you have done your job thoroughly; he certainly will not need you to pamper or provide.
My daughter in law went to a women’s retreat recently. She was away four days, so I moved in to help. I made sure four children got three square meals and two hearty snacks each day. I transported from school, did mountains of laundry, tidied; generally busted myself to keep everything done-to cover all the bases. Why? Because I wanted her to be missed for who she is; not for all the work that she gets done.
According to this perspective; the family misses her because they love her, not because they are missing a meal or a clean pair of socks.
I mentioned this at a gathering to which I accompanied the children. There was a collective sigh, and a nod. Isn’t that what we all want? To be loved for who we are, not just all the work we do?
Admittedly, what we get done is a part of who we are. I am a “doer.” Getting things done is a big part of who I am. I am dependable. I DO what I say I will do. I follow through and get things done. But that is just one part of my personality. I long to be lovable, for others to find me gracious, understanding, nurturing.
We may like to be acknowledged for what we do, for what we have accomplished. But in the end; do we not all want to be loved for who we are? When we are away, do we not want to be missed because we are loved; not for all the things that did not get done in our absence?
What is your opinion? Do you want to be loved for who you are, not what you do? Or, is what you do an integral part of who you are?
I feel like all my prayers are being answered and all my dreams are 
coming true–for other people. And, it makes me smile. It is cause for happiness, celebration and joy. What a wonderful feeling to know these things are possible; that education, hard work, sacrifice and focus really do pay off.
The ancient prophecy of Joel promised, “I will restore to you the years the worm has eaten.” I was jubilant recently, when I witnessed the relational and material successes of a close friend whom I know has slogged through tough times and emotional pain.
The fact that other folks have received things I desire, is not grounds to covet, envy, or resent. It is grounds for celebration. At times, I am tempted to ask what I have done wrong. Why are all my dreams and longings being answered in the lives of other people, but not in mine? Maybe so they can be a blessing to me.
Over the past 12 months, I have been privileged to spend numerous days in the homes of various relatives whom material success has smiled on. Yes, faithful dependable work and sensible investment have paid off, and they are more than willing to share hospitably. Recently, I spent 36 hours of R and R at a cousin’s. Retired, yet youthful; she and her husband have just used the first two years post retirement to design and build their dream home. I could soak in her claw foot bathtub, or the hot tub; write in the impeccably decorated guest apartment; or drink in the open landscape forever, while waiting on my dreams and answers.
Yes, recently, I have noticed that all my prayers are being answered — all my dreams are coming true– for other people. I aim to celebrate and enjoy all their successes to the limit while I wait patiently for mine.
