Tag Archives: holidays


Here’s to 2015

happy-new-year-currier-ives_800pxHere we are, at the first of a new year. Three hundred and sixty-five blank calendar squares lie before us!

That’s three hundred and sixty-five days to do as we please . . .

To celebrate big moments and small. To make new friends and strive to maintain old friends. To learn a thing or two; to go on an adventure or two. To travel–abroad and in our own backyard. To laugh (and chortle). To sing and dance–paying no mind to the talent we have or haven’t. To create something–to at least try.

Of course, even in years where everything’s coming up roses, there’s sure to be the occasional thorn. Thankfully, there’s three hundred and sixty-five days of grace for those moments, too.

So here’s to you. May the coming days find more laughter than tears; more happy memories than sad. And years from now, when you look back on these three hundred and sixty-five calendar squares, may you find them altogether lovely.

Happy new year, dear friends–here’s to making it one to remember!


A hint of perfection


Quiet and charming, that’s Christmas 2014.

It came in as it’s sure to go out (as I write, it’s but the 5th day of Christmas you know): with very little fanfare.

No, it wasn’t the likes you’d find in the pages of a magazine. There were few of us to celebrate. But we rallied nicely. We ate and drank and laughed and otherwise partook of holiday festivities.The pie I saved until the last minute–resulting in a hurly-burly attempt at pie crust. In a fit of despair, I tossed my attempt in the waste basket; I dug it back out moments later. Ultimately, I decided the idea ill-advised. We may have eaten a ready-made pie crust, but we had eggnog pie all the same.  It wasn’t exactly a white Christmas; but snow fell Christmas Eve, just as Bing Crosby crooned White Christmas. It snowed just enough to add a layer of white–but not enough to require shoveling the driveway and sidewalks on Christmas Day.

And we mustn’t forget the gifts.

You know, it seems as though we spend a lifetime wondering what gifts will be bestowed by family and friends–what Santa might leave us. Yet when all the paper lies crumpled in a heap, boxes rise precariously high, and fanciful ribbons and bows are little more than cat toys, what did we receive? We’re hard pressed to recall . . .

Thankfully, the older we get, the more gift receiving takes something of a backseat. As a matter of fact, my own gifts were the least of my concerns. When friends asked what I’d love for Christmas, my mind drew a blank.

So wouldn’t you know, this would be the year I’d receive gifts the memory of which will last a lifetime.

They came from my mom, you see: a pen and notebook; bubble gum (’tis true–chewing gum serves my thinking device); soft sweatshirts and a string of pearls (a few months back–after coming home from work one day and throwing on an old zippered sweatshirt before getting ready for a party–I proclaimed a soft sweatshirt and pearls to be my writing uniform of choice).

She gave me gifts with a writing bent; but more importantly, she gave me a pass to continue dreaming . . . to tell my stories . . . to do what I’ve always loved, no matter what it takes . . . to write.

Why yes, I did shed a tear, however did you know?

All in all, imperfections considered, I’d say the holiday held a hint of perfection.


Merry Christmas


December 22nd comes a close, even as I write this note. I’ve still work to attend, cookies to bake, a few stray presents to wrap. I’ve also decided a last-minute-DIY project is in order. Me, of all people, Doing-It-Myself. Let’s just hope for a Christmas miracle, shall we?

And yet, we said goodbye to another friend from “the home.” Our sweet, witty Evelyn Zoe died this morning. Surely, if she were still with us, she’d be quick to remind what’s important. After all, Christmas will arrive whether we’re ready or not. And sometimes the “merry” arises from the imperfection.

So to you dear friends, I wish the merriest of holidays. I hope you’re surrounded by those you love most; I hope your days are filled with delight.

And if your Christmas is a little bit blue, I pray extra love to you . . .







And I quote

In other words: A good St. George’s Day to you



Well, blow me down!

The wind, it seems, puffs up a bit more with each passing year; yesterday, it was positively highfaluting.  Blew our neighbor’s fence right over. Then I was paranoid. Every few minutes I’d peek out the window, just to make sure ours remained upright.

The fact it continues to stand is nothing short of a miracle, truly.

The wind also made for some interesting walking, downtown. The surrounding buildings create something of a vortex, which is a lot of fun to watch (and mock as) others walk through—not so fun to experience.

For example, the minute I walked out of the parking garage, sand blew into my eyes, rendering me momentarily blind, the back of my jacket stood to attention, and I realized, though my feet were making the appropriate movements, I remained in the same spot.

Then there was the hair.

Oh, the hair . . .

Let it be known: I did try. In an effort to corral the mayhem, I braided my hair. Alas, moisture lurked about.  That, coupled with the squalls did my locks no favors. Any stranger who happened upon me probably figured me for some sort of Gene Wilder impersonator.

Sad state of affairs, that.

All the same, I was nowhere to be found when the street sign toppled over; I got free beer; and the day ended with Irish comfort food.

Today all that remains is to recover.

Not that I drink a lot, mind. But I have been known to eat my weight in soda bread . . . and that’s roughly the same thing.