Christmas in a Box

The realization came slowly and wistfully like snow settling on sturdy branches.

I pulled out the Christmas decorations
and thought one by one
about the things I left behind in Phoenix

 Nativity figurines
Christmas china
Our handmade stockings
 the hanging card holder I love to decorate with photo cards
 the well-thumbed Night Before Christmas book traditionally read on Christmas Eve

Little things familiar and comforting like old friends

There are many things I can survive without but one thing I need to survive
and He does not fit into a box.
Happy Birthday Jesus

This is the reason why

The kind souls who work at the humane society may show compassion to young, stray or abandoned animals, but they're not so considerate of the tenderhearted people who wander in  expecting to find the perfect pet.  How do you choose just one from a family of frolicking kittens, rough and tumble  playing head over paws in fun with each other?

A little over two and one half years ago, Katie and I obsessed over which kitten to take home - the one that favored Smokey, the one whose little kitty motor purred loudest or the one who climbed up and fell into the trash can.

Caught Ozzie back in the trash can today - his little face still tugging at my heart strings.

First step, First snow

We forget that Ozzie is a snowbird too. 

He came to live with us in May 2009, 

the year we spent our first winter in Phoenix. 

Out west before Thanksgiving, he has never stepped foot in snow.
Until this December

when the first dusting of a mild winter brought a flurry of new and unexpected adventures.

11-11-11

Jeff had a date with lady luck on 11-11-11 and lost his heart to her fickle hand.
But what a thrill to step up to a roulette table after a birthday dinner with Katie, Lizzy and Nick along with all the other superstitious gamblers as the clock ticked toward 11 p.m.

One such group, nicely dressed in black, gathered near us and talked excitedly among themselves. I wondered if they were going to blow up The Paris at 11:11 p.m. but thankfully they only wanted to cash in on the unusual number phenomenon.



Five guys plunked down two hundreds and received two black chips which they stacked straight up on 11.  If the ball landed on 11, the table payout would have been $7,000 each or $35,000 for them and then whatever Jeff and others had down. Bedlam at The Paris!

The air was electric with expectation. We all held our breath for the 11:11 p.m. spin. It was like a slow motion scene out of a movie. The ball bounced into 11 for a split second, the bounced out. Drained of emotion, the five and their friends simply walked away. Did they have any regrets? I'm guessing the anticipation of planning the moment was just as thrilling for these young men who had to show their drivers' license to place a bet. And Jeff? He kept on betting the night away. I lasted until midnight, then sauntered up to bed with sweet dreams of the morrow.

October Harvest Gone Awry

While we slept soundly in St. Louis after the World Series win, 

 mean-spirited night-walkers trespassed undetected in our front yard 

and whisked away twenty or more farm grown pumpkins. 

The pick of the bunch.

 The plumpest pumpkins in autumn's finest hues.

Why so sad? 

Each seed was sowed with expectation.
Weeded, watched and weighed in my mind since spring.

Clipped from tangled vines like babies from their umbilical cords. 

Cradled one by one and wiped clean of earth, then
 transported home and earmarked
 as autumn gifts.
Robbed of the pleasure.

Cards Bluffed it Out to Win it All

 

Despite ominous skies, we watched the first game of the 2011 World Series from a sky box high atop Busch Stadium in St. Louis. The hometown Cardinals beat the Texas Rangers 3 to 2 that night and went on to become the World Champions in seven games. When I hemmed and hawed about traveling to St. Louis in the middle of a busy week at home, Jeff said it was a "once in a lifetime" opportunity (second for him) thanks to our generous and thoughtful friends whose companionship is more easily enjoyed near sea level or lakeside in Wisconsin, Chicago or Arizona.

The air was electric with spectator excitement and patriotism as Michelle Obama and Dr. Jill Biden paid tribute to the military and their families.

The fall classic signals something else besides the best of summer baseball. The coming of winter and the mad rush to the end of the year holidays.

Cry Me a River

It's hard to feel sorry for us. Our backs don't hurt, our heads don't throb, our bones don't creek and our hands don't ache. Our hearts are beating, our lungs are breathing, our feet take us where we want to go. We don't even feel sorry for each other very often. Until this week.

Few places in America are more majestic than the Colorado mountains in the summertime. Verdant slopes and valleys dotted with wildflowers and topped by snow-capped peaks are enough to take your breath away. We honeymooned in Colorado, we've vacationed in Colorado and even looked at colleges for Nicholas in Colorado. We've endured our share of summer storms, rain on our honeymoon, and then with the kids, a thunderstorm so sudden and so strong the Vail gondala shut down and we were bussed down the mountain.

But this time the weather was fall like and beautiful...the kind of mountain days that take your breath away.

Literally take your breath away.

Meandering around the top of Vail Mountain at 10,000 feet elevation proved to be too much for Jeff who was already sleep deprived due to his decreased oxygen level.  He checked into the ER with high altittude pulmonary edema and extreme shortness of breath. Didn't much like being flat on his back for the day, and then released with oxygen for the duration of the trip.

My "sorry state" wasn't as dramatic but wow did I feel sorry for myself.  One minute, I was cutting up what I thought were sweet peppers from my garden. Then next, my eyes were burning from the touch.  The burn on my hands got increasingly worst until bedtime, when I tossed and turned and couldn't fall asleep. Ice, running water and lemon juice brought temporary relief.

I searched the internet for solutions.

The most common suggestion was wear rubber gloves while handling peppers. Too late.

One site suggested a vodka bath. I poured a cheap bottle reserved for vodka sauce into the sink and doused my hands in the soothing liquid. Ahh relief...if only for a few minutes. Desperate as the clock ticked toward early morning, I scanned the internet for another solution.

There is was.

Bleach. Caution - use as a last resort to kill the capsaicin chemical in the peppers.  Yes, bleach did take away the burn from my hands. I just wonder about the stomachs of those who ate the fajitas.

We both survived our bouts of anguish, ironically caused by beautiful and natural things. Nature's way of telling us to better care for ourselves - and be more compassionate towards another's ailments and afflictions.

For Mothers Everywhere

Summer is all about sweet homecomings 

and the inevitable leave-takings 

that follow.  

There's a heap of living in between 

as summer wraps her long lazy arms 

around our shoulders

 and holds on 

until she can hold on no longer. 

Then it's time to send them
 packing back to college
with a hug and a kiss
and heart full of prayers,
knowing that the waves
of melancholy will rush in uninvited and
                                                                             depart as quickly as they came.  

Same time this year

2 1/2 years
2011

Almost 1 1/2 years old
2010

6 months
2009

Mmm delicious

the makings of a simple summer meal

one dirty martini with blue cheese olives

garden fresh zucchini grilled 

with olive oil 

lemon 

salt & pepper

ripe tomatoes lightly splashed 

with olive oil 

balsamic vinegar 

 feta cheese 

basil

and 

spicy 

grilled

Italian 

sausage

the Sweet Gift of Rain

A breathless string of hot and sultry days,
days uninterrupted by a breeze or even a cloud, came to a abrupt end early Saturday morning, on our anniversary, with flickering lighting and buckets of rain. Ahhh, the sweet gift of rain, just what we needed to enjoy a
perfect Chicago day and night. 

Return to Sawyer Lake?

 

To see a young eagle
 swoop down from the nest...

                                                                                                                     

We had high expectations for eagle watching at Sawyer Lake in Wisconsin and were not disappointed. We sighted the baby on our first afternoon outing after carefully scanning the tree line for a view of the nest. Pucky, as he became known to us, was well camouflaged but flew down to greet us and spread his young wings, a preview of the adult majesty to come. 

then spread his wings before us

To spy a tiny down-covered loon
 riding on its mother's back...

then marvel as the still tiny chick swims alongside its
parents, nourished and protected by their constant
attention

Even more fascinating than eagle watching was observing the loons. Kate saw the nesting loons towards the end of the June. Susan took the photo of the one week old loon riding piggyback and I photographed the loons one week later swimming comfortably together.

I fell in love with loons about 20 years ago in Minnesota on a lake even further north than Sawyer. Similar to a duck, the loon with its velvety black head, pensive red eyes, necklace of white and striking body markings is more elegant and exotic in appearance.  The loon's haunting high-pitched yodel sounds more like an native American flute than a bird.  

By three months old, Tuney will look like his parents, sound like his parents and be totally self-sufficient. As autumn approaches, adults migrate to  coastal marine lakes ahead of their offspring. It's unclear from what I've read if Tuney will join his parents or go elsewhere. It does say that the immature loons stay in their winter habitat for a few years. 

"In some future spring, the bird that began life as a fluffy chick bobbing on the water will return as an elegant adult to the northern lakes. With eerie wails and wild tremolos, its voice will echo across the water, and once more the loon will claim its territory—and our hearts—as the spirit of the north." 

 --Marie Read

                                                                                         

Camera

"Im crying i cant find my camera" 

A text sent from Katie in Rome 3:35 am Chicago time. 

Not the wake up message a mother wants to see. 

Certainly not the worse thing that could happen to a 21-year old traveling around Europe. 

My mind fast forwards to other reasons she could have for crying in a foreign country.

Still not the best news for someone more apt to post on Facebook than put together a photo album. 

If she were home, I would stop what I was doing and search high and low.  

All I can do from afar is be a sympathetic listener, not chastising her for the loss. 

It could be anywhere - left in a hostel, taxi cab, metro, restaurant, park or... stolen.

My initial response was "oh no" which made her lament the loss even more, texting about a ruined trip, losing hope and feeling mad, sad and frustrated. 

To which I replied "pray, pray and pray again", 

knowing that her camera won't suddenly appear 

but she may feel better.

The thing about being a mother is our job is never done. 

Even when we're not on "active duty", we're still on call 

not so much to do anything but to be a sounding board, 

a shoulder to cry on or a voice of praise. 

Sometimes the call bursts your buttons you're so proud,
 other times it tears at your heart.

 A mother's heart knows the different between little snip and a gash.

Losing a camera on a once in a lifetime trip is sad, 
but Katie has a lot to be thankful for in her life. 

She won't have her photos, but others on the trip will share theirs...on Facebook. 

And yes, she will still be sad about losing her camera and

 I will miss out on seeing 

Paris 

Geneva

 Rome 

 the cobblestone streets of Breda 

through Katie's eyes. 

Who came first? The husband or the friend?

I met Barb in middle school, remained best
friends in high school, then lived together at ASU.

Barb met Jeff in Mr. Quesada's color art class
our senior year at ASU. I met Jeff after he 
was friends with Barb and our roommate Lisa. 

Here we are sharing a beer at Millennium Park 
in Chicago more than 40 years later 

Weather Woes Continue

June arrived with a vengeance - certainly not with the destructive force displayed by nature in the other parts of the country, but noteworthy nonetheless. After a string of 90 degree days, I woke up this morning to a felled tree limb, a lake in the backyard and temperatures more than 40 degrees lower than yesterday. We've had ducks appear in our yard before, but never turkeys! 

Much Better

Ozzie would rather have sun in his eyes.

He went from gazing at the fireplace to 90 degree weather in a couple days.

The Girls are Home

It happened again like so many times in the past. 

Two girls came in, then another and another and before long the house resounded with the joyful, often missed sound of laughter and chatter - as they caught up on the days, weeks and months of college in different cities with new friends and some of the same ones too.  

I savored the moment - the Central girls together again, then went upstairs so they could disclose secrets not for a mother's ears. I savored the moment because Saturday Katie leaves to study in Europe and the house will be quiet until she...and the girls come home again.

A Fireplace Day in late May

First the downpours came, dark and heavy, the kind of spring rain that pops the heads off tulips and creates rivulets of rainwater in the grassy ditch.

The temperatures dropped to 45 degrees, the air conditioning turned off and the heat came back on. The fireplace, which stood cold all winter in our absence, was a reminder that 80 and 90 degree days are fleeting pleasures this time of the year.

Ozzie (our snowbird kitty) is mesmerized by the flames, but even he would rather be outside.

The Promise

After a brief but welcome string of warm and sunny days,

 the weather turned wet and blustery again as if 

She 

 a righteous and faith-filled woman,

 the beloved of one strong and adoring husband, 

 the proud and protective mother of four tall and handsome sons

 is weeping 

at the reality of leaving them and their earthy home too soon

but not forever. 

Happy (God) Mother's Day

My children were miles away this Mother's Day
but here we are celebrating a very happy
graduation day with our Godson

It's easier to ...than buy an iPad 2

  

Ha I wish I could!

Day 1 -- I went to the Apple Store and asked for an iPad 2 demonstration.  I spent close to an hour with a very enthusiastic Brit who waited a year to be hired by Apple because he loves the products so much.  I told him my husband offered to buy one for my birthday and Mother's day (five days away).

Day 2 -- The Apple Store opens at 10 a.m. or so I saw posted online. Jeff and I were there a few minutes before only to be told that the shipment from that morning was gone. Gone? Wasn't the (already packed) Oak Brook store just opening for the day? That's when we learned, the Apple people in the bright blue shirts open the doors by 8 a.m and buyers line up by 7 to 7:30 a.m. for a number to buy one of the who knows how many iPad 2's came in.

That day I discovered it's easier to...
  get the oil in my car changed than buy an iPad 2
  have an eye exam, pick out new glasses and pick them up a few hours later than buy an iPad 2
  walk to town and back than buy an iPad 2
  help pack up a friend's entire kitchen than buy an iPad 2

Day 3 -- Out of bed by 6:30 a.m. On our way to the Apple Store by 7 a.m., coffee in hand and feeling pretty confident we'd beat the rush. We expected to wait a bit outside, but again the store was open early around 7:30 a.m. with people inside getting private instruction.  We were let in, only to be told that there was no shipment yet that day, but don't worry if a shipment arrives later in the day, they hold it until the next morning so folks who wander in mid-day or evening don't get priority over those of us who get up early and stand in line. So come on back tomorrow, same time, same place.

Tomorrow we're leaving early for Memphis so we did what any now desperate iPad 2 junkie does. We got the Apple Store address in Germantown and will swing by on our way in to see if the iPad 2 is as popular in the Memphis suburb as it is in Chicagoland.

Today I discovered it's easier to...
  make a lemon pie from scratch with fresh squeezed lemons than buy an iPad 2
  pack for vacation than buy an iPad 2
  transfer hundreds of photos to an jump drive than buy an iPad 2
  make dinner for company than buy an iPad 2

Day 4 -- We arrived in Memphis about 3 p.m. Friday and drove straight the the Apple Store, only to be told that they too were waiting for a new shipment and to try again tomorrow, not quite as early as Oak Brook but still before opening.

 I discovered it's easier to...
    drive eight hours from Hinsdale to Memphis than buy an iPad 2

Day 5 -- One day before Mother's Day (five days 'til my birthday), Jeff was determined to have another go at it.  He and Tom went to the Apple Store around 8 a.m. and came back with a sad face, saying you have to be a Memphis resident to purchase an iPad 2, to which Anne Marie replied Tom's a resident.
Just Jeff kidding around!  He pulled out the coveted ticket with the caveat that we return before the store opens to line up with all the others.  If I was ever on the fence about the iPad 2, by now I really really really wanted one.  To quote the bard, "All's well that ends well".   I got my iPad 2, but still discovered a couple things in the process.

I discovered it's easier to ...
  confidently walk up ticket in hand for your exact model instead of taking a chance, like the man who  bought his wife a slightly better Mother's Day gift than he expected
I also discovered it's easy to...
  spend so much time in an Apple store that a sunny Memphis day can turn cool and rainy.

Fast friends waiting to go in

My sales associate Bridgid

Christos Anesti (Christ Has Risen)

Every few years Greek Easter falls on the same day as "American" Easter. This is one of those years.

Jeff related an interesting story on the way to church about our red-dyed eggs. No pastel colors for Greeks - Easter eggs are always dyed red, the darker the better, to signify the blood of Christ. But here's another story.

After the Ascension of Jesus, Mary Magdalene greeted the Emperor of Rome by saying "Christ Has Risen". He pointed to an egg and stated, "Christ has no more risen than that egg is red".  As soon as he said that, the egg turned blood red to represent Christ's passion and death.  Alithos Anesti (Truly He Has Risen)

Another Day in Heaven

I'm not very good about remembering ages, especially the ages of people I'm not even acquainted with.

But I do know that William, Prince of Wales will be two months shy of his 29th birthday when he marries Kate Middleton on April 29. I remember that he was born in June, 1982.

I know this - not because I am a fan of the royals - but because I was pregnant at the same time as his mother Princess Diana and, like her, counting the days until a June birth. Cyciley was born 29 years ago today and went to heaven four days later.


Both births were blessed.
William will inherit an earthly kingdom.
Cyciley inherited a heavenly kingdom.

April Fools for Coming Home Early?

This is how it is in Chicagoland this time of the year - the calendar shouts spring but old man winter won't let go of his icy grip. The trees out back stand stark, still sleeping against the gray sky. I've searched in vain for the first sign of leaves, but the branches remain smooth waiting for more sunny days ahead.









The trees still slumber this first day of April, but the earth stirs with new life. Bulbs pop up out of the crusty ground with the first splash of color so vibrant you wonder how the rest of the landscape can look so dull. The baby daffodil - the first to bloom - is by Smokey's spot in the garden - a reminder during this Lenten season of rebirth, the awakening of new life.

Home in Bloom

We woke up to a light dusting of snow on our second morning home, a sure sign that it is still winter in Hinsdale. I pulled out my long wool coat, gloves and scarf to brave the 28 degree morning, and let the car warm up a bit before venturing out to Bible Study. If we hadn't already experienced a long run of 80 degree Phoenix days, I'd feel discouraged by the cold. Instead, I feel thankful to home and watch with anticipation the bulbs popping up in clumps around the yard.


Miraculously, two house plants thrived on neglect and survived from mid-November to mid-March without watering and 55 degree inside temperatures: the blooming kalanchoe and mother-in-law's tongue (which is what I now am - a mother-in-law with, I hope, a kind and loving tongue).

The Gift

We danced together at his wedding, my son and I, for a split second of eternity. If all eyes were on us, I didn't notice, because I only had eyes for him. My once small boy - a married man now with dreams of his own.


We danced together, my son and I, to a song of his choosing. A poet in his youth, a singer in his teens, he does not regard music lightly or use words frivolously. Which is why I knew our song would come from his heart and speak to mine - and be classic rock and roll. 


Simple Man 
Lynyrd Skynryd

Mama told me when I was young
Come sit beside me, my only son
And listen closely to what I say
And if you do this 

It'll help you some sunny day.

Oh, take your time, don't live too fast
Troubles will come and they will pass
You'll find a woman, you'll find love
And don't forget son,

There is someone up above

Chorus:

And be a simple kind of man
Be something you love and understand
Baby be a simple kind of man
Oh, won't you do this for me son

If you can?

Forget your lust for the rich man's gold
All that you need is in your soul
And you can do this, oh baby, if you try
All that I want for you my son

Is to be satisfied.

Chorus

Boy, don't you worry you'll find yourself
Follow your heart, lord, and nothing else
And you can do this, oh baby, if you try
All that I want for you my son

Is to be satisfied.

Chorus

Baby be a simple, be a simple man
Be something you love and understand
Baby be a simple kind of man


© DUCHESS MUSIC CORPORATION; LONGITUDE MUSIC CO.

Valentine's Day at Arizona Biltmore

It seemed like the Wright thing to do now that we're wintering in Phoenix. To celebrate Valentine's Day at the Arizona Biltmore, where we spent our wedding night almost 34 years ago. 

My love affair with the Biltmore began long before my wedding day. As a young girl growing up in Phoenix, I was intrigued by the exclusive palm tree-lined entrance where only the privileged seemed destined to enter. Luxury estates marked the road to the hotel, which stood at the end of the trail like a queen on her throne. The Biltmore was the place of legends.  Clark Gable and Carole Lombard honeymooned at the Biltmore, Marilyn Monroe swam in the grand pool, Hollywood luminaries wined and dined there and US. presidents stayed there. The iconic hotel was inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright, designed by a protege and formerly owned by William Wrigley Jr. of the chewing gum fortune. It was a straight shot down Missouri Avenue, minutes from where I lived, but world's apart in grandeur, wealth and celebrity.