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New Arrival

Introducing my new dishes :) This is Momma's pottery, which was handmade in the desert by a local artist.  The pottery very much fits the feel of the high desert and I am so happy to have this set!

On each piece are unique petroglyph figures modeled after the petroglyphs found in the desert mountains and canyons surrounding my home town.  Each piece is different.

This is one of my favorite designs--a pregnant mountain goat :)  Unfortunately, this bowl broke in the shipping, but there's already an order placed for me with Lois to increase my set from 8 to 12, so I'll just add another bowl or two :) I hope she takes design requests--I want this goat back!

So, next time you're over at my house, ask to see my new dishes--if I haven't already invited you into my kitchen to show you!

things and Things

While we were in CA Daddy wanted us to go through some of the (mountains of) kitchen stuff so that he had more room in the cupboards.  We went through the mugs and he picked out a dozen or so that he liked and we loaded the rest into the van to take to Goodwill.  We rearranged glasses in other cupboards to mostly fit in the space left by the mugs.

We went through some of the baking pans and got rid of several dishes that probably won't be used anymore.  The tricky thing is that we wanted to keep enough "stuff" around so that, when we all come home for, say, Thanksgiving one year, we'll have plenty of pots, pans, and serving trays to still have a family dinner. And really, our family won't be getting smaller anytime soon.  I did get to take home two beautiful wooden "toastmaster trays" and a stainless serving tray.  I haven't figured out where to put them yet :) but they're lovely to have around, reminding me of Momma.

It's funny the things that you want to keep when you lose someone close to you.  So many gatherings of our family were centered around the kitchen--food of all sorts was very important to Momma.  We all have distinct memories of this or that food which only made appearances for certain occasions.  We all have a favorite dish (or seven) that Momma would make..  and we all have those foods we weren't too fond of!  Likewise with dishes and china and cups and mugs and such.  Some Things we treasure dearly and everyone wants to keep them. For other things, we really wondered why Momma even had them (like the collection of computer company mugs that Momma kept for Daddy--even though Daddy didn't particularly care for them).   Such is life, I suppose :)

One of the Things that was very important to my mother was china (and crystal--and other hostess/entertaining accoutrements).  Did you know my mother had six sets of china?  And four sets of crystal? And, while I'm listing things, she also had four patterns of silverware!

She started with two patterns in china, Blue Danube (I picked the same pattern for my wedding china) for her every-day set, and Cleopatra for her fine china.  She picked these out when she was in high school in Japan.   My grandmother spent $100 on dinnerware for Momma that day and she got full sets for 8 in each set of china.  Yes--full service for 8 (including serving dishes!) was only $50 in Japan at that time. Incredible. [as a comparison, one place setting in Blue Danube these days runs for $200.]  Vivian will inherit the Cleopatra (and Momma's bronze silverware from Asia).

Over the years, she increased her two patterns to many more place settings. I think she has service for at least 12 in the Cleopatra now, and service for something like 24 in the Blue Danube (which is really more like two sets).  Serving dishes innumerable--and of all shapes and sizes.  She even has full tea and coffee service in each pattern.

Once she moved to the desert, Momma fell in love with Lois Hinman's pottery and built her collection of the blue petroglyph (on the right) up to service for 8 with serving pieces.  This also was one of the things Daddy wanted "cleared out" from the cupboards.  My brother and I split the set--I got the plates and bowls and he got the serving pieces (he has pottery already that will go well with the petroglyph).  I'm so excited to get these dishes.  I didn't realize just how much I really did want it until it was settled and set aside for me. They have always been favorites of Taylor, too.  Daddy (very graciously) said the "JLM estate" will increase the set to 12 for me, and add a couple serving pieces, so Summer went to Lois and commissioned more pieces.  I should have them by Christmas. I cannot wait :)

Another set of china Momma acquired in CA was the "kutani."  I don't know what the proper name of the pattern is--I'm not even sure there is a proper name.  It's all hand-painted Japanese fine china and there are as many "kutani" patterns as there are painters, I believe.  We all loved this set--it was so striking and so bright.  This is the set my brother wanted, his first set of fine china from Momma.

The other set of china Momma has is a Noritake pattern called Effingham.  None of us are sure what to do with it yet :) but I'm sure we'll figure it out eventually.

I know that, for the next several years, any trip home to Daddy's house will probably involve sorting through more of Momma's things (and through some of her Things, too).  We will get rid of a lot and leave a lot in the house and probably take a lot with us.  In a very tangible way, I think it helps with the grieving process.  As you sort through the various physical objects the person has left behind, you are also able to sift through your memories, weighing each of them in turn, and treasuring those most dear until you see her again. I do look forward to the day when we go to Daddy's house just to visit, but I am thankful that we have time to remember Momma in her Things and in each other.

of Capistrano

Did anyone else do a Mission Report in fourth grade?  I realize it was probably specific to California schools, probably even to California Catholic schools, but I have good memories of my mission report.

I chose San Juan Capistrano, the "jewel of the missions" as it is nicknamed, for my mission in fourth grade.  Myself being only 10 years old, and the report being a scratch-the-surface-at-best delving into the history of the mission, I don't remember very much about Capistrano.  I didn't even know who St. John of Capistrano was...

I do remember a few things, though.  Capistrano is famous for the swallows that would return to the mission, nesting on the ruined church walls.  Traditionally, the city of Capistrano would celebrate the return of the birds on St. Joseph's day (March 19) and bid them farewell around St. John's Day (October 23).  Sadly, it seems that the swallows have not returned for the past several years.

I also remember the fountain in the courtyard.  I love the way it just drips the water out the side, trailing down the plants that over-grow the main bowl.  I remember the coi in the pond as well.  Those were a big hit with little Madelyn, the daughter of our friends who took us to the mission.

It was so much fun to walk around the mission, though we didn't stay very long.  Momma kept the diorama I made (which she helped me with, of course), and it still hangs in the nook of Daddy's house (I'll take a picture next time I'm out that way).  Because of the diorama, I remember the ruined church attached to the mission.  Before an earthquake caused the roof to collapse, it was the largest of any of the mission churches.

Capistrano also boasts the only surviving chapel where Fr. Serra (the founder of all the California Missions) said Mass.  I remember when we visited the mission (as a family, a sort of field trip together), I got a lovely book of post cards, mostly pictures of this chapel.  Beautiful.

This church has a side chapel dedicated to St. Peregrine, patron saint of those suffering from cancer.

This was the first (California) mission T has ever visited.  Not a bad starting place, huh?  It convinced him to use the mission's central open courtyard model for our hobbit hole on our farm someday :)  Which works out well because I've already designed our house like that anyway ;)

Someday, T and I want to drive all the way up El Camino Real, visiting all the missions one by one, taking a leisurely vacation along coastal California.  I have only ever visited three: Capistrano, Carmel, and San Miguel.  I'd love to go back again (and again and again...).

"In a hole in the ground...

there lived a hobbit."

Thus began my first exposure to Tolkien's writing--to Middle Earth, hobbits, elves, and all the glory of his fantasy.   You may (or may not) know that my husband is a Tolkien FAN (I mean super-fan, really. He has read everything Tolkien's written), and can you believe it? he married me before I had read the Lord of the Rings :)  As a matter of fact, we read it aloud to each other on our honeymoon in Italy.  I have many fond memories of sitting up late into the night, taking turns reading through the growing climax of the story. "Just one more chapter! Let's just read one more chapter!"  But at the end of that chapter, we would want to read just one more.  We spent whole days inside, in Rome, to read Tolkien.  It was worth it.

I have read the story of Frodo and the ring twice since my honeymoon.  Once for a class on the Philosophy of Tolkien (T and I ended up reading it aloud together anyway).  The next time, I had started to read it aloud to Momma, during Congress last year.  I thought she would like to hear the story--and being read to is always a nice treat when one is exhausted in every other sense.  We made it to Tom Bombadil's house where "a golden light was all about them."  I finished reading the story "by myself" (and yet, in a very real sense, still with Momma listening) and finished it in May on yet another plane ride to CA.  I cried at the end. I sobbed.  It is such a good story--there is much sadness, but so much hope. This time, I am reading the Lord of the Rings aloud with my sister Viv.  Gandalf has just taken possession of the Palantir Wormtongue cast from Orthanc.

---

I was getting my master's at Gonzaga when I first read The Hobbit, and I realized, as I sat on the plane to CA last weekend, leafing through the pages of the first chapter, I hardly remembered any of it. It must have been an exceptionally busy and stressful semester to have been so distracted as I read.

There were, of course, those points in the story which are noted in later works, which I remembered.  But I couldn't remember how many dwarves descended on Bilbo's house, that he didn't know Gandalf before that morning in June, blowing smoke rings.  I didn't remember anything about the Wood Elves' underground palace or even Beorn (!).  Even nearing the end of the book, darned if I could remember how Bilbo and the Dwarves got rid of Smaug.  So I really enjoyed reading it this time through.

I also enjoyed the different feel of the book from the Lord of the Rings.  I understand the original editor replaced the word "tummy" with "stomach" in several places to make the book feel older, more mature.  Tolkien, I am convinced, wrote The Hobbit for younger audiences that usually guessed.

I really think it's a story about growing up--striding out of your comfort zone and doing something courageous, using the skills you have to overcome the problems you're faced with, trusting your friends and having faith that things will work out.

Trusting that adventures come to an end and you will make it home, one way or another, safe and sound.  And won't the sound of the boiling kettle warm your heart so much more, after adventure?

Weekend

What are you doing this weekend?

Me? I'm going to CA to spend some time with my Daddy at the religious education congress in Anaheim.  The congress should be pretty cool... but even if it's not, I should get plenty of vitamin D :)

Hope you enjoy yourselves, too :)

The Feast of St. Patrick

When I was a little girl, attending Catholic school, St. Patty's day was sort of a big deal.  See, we had to figure out how to wear green with our red, white, and black plaid, polyester uniforms (:P).  I had green eyes, of course, but that didn't matter. All my friends would say, "That doesn't count!" and pinch me anyway :(

So I took to wearing a pair of Momma's green earrings--little round jade balls (we couldn't wear dangley earrings with our uniform).  I would wear my hair down and when people would say "You're not wearing green!" I would (trimphantly) pull back my hair and say, "HA!"  Sometimes they still pinched me... hm.

[This year I wore her teapot earrings, since they go so well with my bright green sweater!]

Nonetheless, we had all sorts of fun at school on St. Patrick's day (and yes, we were always on the lookout for Leprechauns and their pot of gold (though mostly we were interested in candy)).  We would have green snacks and build traps for them, placing gold beads inside, or gold candies, or spray-painted gold rocks, and concocting all manner of tricky devices to trip them up.  And it was all so shiny :) and so much fun.

I remember watching the movie "Darby O'Gill and the Little People" at home with my sibs.  Often we would go to the Knights of Columbus St. Patty's dinner and eat corned beef and potatoes and cabbage and have vanilla cake for dessert with delicious shamrock-shaped candies on top! So many tasty memories of those.  I remember bargaining for the candies with my parents and oldest siblings (Beth and Viv were too smart to part with theirs).

By high school, and later college, St. Patrick's day lost some of its luster from childhood. It wasn't that I disliked it, but I didn't make traps anymore :) and I didn't bargain for candy shamrocks either.  But, I also didn't go out drinking (even when I was old enough) and generally let the day (which was invariably during Lent) pass by without much pomp or circumstance.

And again, St. Patrick's day is changed for my family.  Momma's funeral was on March 17 last year, and we spent the day very differently than other years together.  Although the viewing the day before was hard on me (seeing my mother's body laid out, wearing make-up, stiff, and cold--it wasn't her anymore and I knew it), the funeral in many ways was harder, but (as there is always grace in sorrow) it was also very good.  [Here is the homily from the funeral.]

The saddest part for me was when she was lowered into her grave.  It seemed so final. So ultimate.  I will never see her body again in this world.  That is hard.

But life is never without humor or joy :)  While Momma was descending, Michael went over to look down and almost lost his gum (that wouldn't have made Momma happy, who spent much of her time as a teacher telling her students to spit their gum out in the trash can).  Also, look at Daddy's face. Know what he's thinking?  "Gosh, that's a deep hole!" :)

And so, here we are at the anniversary. There is still sadness, but even reading through the homily again, and remembering all the events of these recent years, I am not sorrowful.  There is joy behind the tears and I am able to smile, despite the mist in my eyes.  Not all tears are an evil.  And when I think of Momma, especially, I am often reminded of a line from the Return of the King, as Frodo sails to Valinor:

And the ship went out into the High Sea and passed on into the West until at last on a night of rain, Frodo smelled a sweet fragrance on the air and heard the sound of singing that came over the water.  And it seemed to him that...the gray rain-curtain turned all to silver glass and was rolled back, and he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise. 

My Story

About a week and a half before Momma died, I went to the CCD congress in Anaheim, CA with her and Daddy, and we met up with Viv for dinner and a few classes.  It was a great weekend. Momma was so weak by then, and jaundiced from liver failure, that she was in a wheelchair.  My job, in coming to congress, was to push her around for the weekend.

She was a trooper. She was cheerful and loving and really seemed to be enjoying herself, despite her exhaustion.  I wheeled her around to each of her classes, and she listened attentively and we discussed them together. I pushed her through the "den of booths" where she bought several gifts for people, including a congress t-shirt for Daddy (he gets one every year) and a long-sleeve shirt for me (it's one of my favorites now, actually).

I brought along The Fellowship of the Ring so that I could start reading it aloud to her and Daddy.  I thought they would enjoy it and it was such an important story to me that I really wanted to share it with them.  I intended to record the rest of the story for them and email them the files so at least Momma could listen to them while she was resting at home (she had stopped teaching in January due to a bad case of pneumonia).  Together that weekend, we made it through the Old Forest and right up to the threshold of Tom Bombadil's house "and a golden light was all about them."  Fitting.

I remember massaging her feet and calves, because they would go to sleep in the wheelchair. They were always cold, too, so she wore down-filled "tent booties" all the time.  I wanted to touch her as much as possible--y'know how great it feels when someone rubs your shoulders or your hands? all those endorphins? I wanted to send those little feel-good healers all through her body.  But I knew it wouldn't work.  She had told me a few months before that she didn't get those "shivers" of endorphins anymore. Maybe her nervous system had been affected too greatly by the cancer, but she said she just didn't get those feel-good ripples anymore.  That was perhaps the saddest thing for me that weekend.  We are such physical beings that it hurt me, physically (made me want to cry) to know that my touch didn't "work" on her body anymore.  I knew that she was thankful and appreciative that I was rubbing her and hugging her, that emotionally it was supportive, but it was hard to accept that the lack of connection between the physical and spiritual was the beginning of the end...

I remember so much from that weekend, the food we ate, the restaurants we visited, people we met. I remember how the wheelchair would vibrate if I pushed it too quickly along the sidewalks.  I remember sitting in the sunshine with my sister and parents, eating a brought-from-home lunch together.  My skin was hot in the sunlight. I took a picture of a little girl pushing her dolly in a play-stroller.  I asked Momma and Daddy to pose for a picture. The last one I have of them together. You have seen it before--I use it often. I am always struck by how Momma's jaundice was lessened in the sunlight, and how Daddy looks a little more pink than "normal" next to Momma.

Sunday that weekend we packed up our things at the hotel and loaded it all up in the car.  We were in my grandmother's Blue Van. She had been in a wheelchair for the last several years of her life and she picked that  van because it had a big space in the back for the chair, without having to collapse it.  Strange that Momma, who inherited the van, now found its original functionality so useful.

We stayed at Vivian's apartment that night.  She was on the second floor of a building with no elevator, so Momma had to climb the stairs.  Daddy asked her "how are you going to get up to Viv's apartment?" and she said, frankly, "I'm going to go up once and come down once and that's all."  It was hard for her--it took all three of us supporting her as she labored up each step, clutching the railing of the stairs. I think I slept on the couch that night and Viv slept in her roommate's bed.

In the morning, Momma and Daddy had to pick up Uncle Greg (Momma's brother) at the airport.  Momma climbed down the stairs again, two of us in front of her to lean on and one behind her for support, and walked the 15 or so feet to the van.  She was so weak, so tired. I hugged her goodbye, without bursting into tears, and Viv and I helped her up into the front seat of the van.  She blessed us and told us she loved us.  That was the last time I saw her alive.

I spent the rest of the day hanging out with Viv, visiting some of her "haunts" in the area :)  I flew back to Boston on the red-eye and had a busy busy week and weekend, with family visiting and house guests and work schedules and crochet class and an under-the-weather husband.

----

After Christmas, I had told Momma and Daddy I could take time off work to be in CA and help out (thank Heaven for employee benefits).  On Wednesday the week after I returned from Congress (after our last house guest had left), I got a call from Daddy in the afternoon.  In a very calm, but very sober voice, he asked me to come and stay for an indefinite period of time because Momma had taken a turn for the worse.  I could hear the emotion and tears catch in his throat as he continued, "She doesn't have much time."  I told him I'd come soon and Taylor and I booked tickets for Saturday, intending to finish the week at work and settle things with them about my leave. I went to my crochet class that evening, still thinking I had time...

Later in the evening, my sister Bethany called me, also choked up. She told me, "I don't know if Mom's gonna make it till Saturday. You've got to get here sooner."  Panic set in. But at that point in the evening, the next available flight to CA was early the next morning.  We had to wait.

So we packed our bags and I wrote a letter to my employers letting them know I was taking a month of family-related medical leave--I didn't care what they said. I'd sort it out later. I was going to CA.  We went to bed at 11, thinking we should at least be rested for the next day, since there was nothing else to do but pray.

Sometime around 1am my phone rang. It was my brother; he was crying.  It's always hard to bear when men cry, I don't know why that is. He said, "Mom died a little while ago." and he told me that he got to see her, just in time. She was conscious and lucid and recognized him when he came in the room.  Then Summer got on the phone and told me Daddy was still in the room with her, stroking her arm. She was crying, and she said she had to go take Giulia in to say goodbye to Grandmama.  They told me they loved me. I told them I loved them too and said something like "I'll see you tomorrow."

I hung up the phone and woke Taylor up. We cried together, hard and loud. Even then, in that moment, as we held each other in bed, I could feel Momma there with us.  I knew she was there. Right before my brother called, I was dreaming.  I dreamed about Momma's last moments. She was lying in bed with all her children around her and giving last bits of advice (or prophecy).

We sent emails to our closest friends and family, letting them know Momma had died, and we went back to bed.  A few hours later we woke to our alarms and piled our bags into the taxi, went to the airport, spent 6 dry (both in humidity and in tears) hours on the plane, picked up our rental car, got In-n-Out (well, Momma would have wanted us to, and we were hungry!), and drove the three hours up to Inyokern.

Hospice had removed Momma's body by the time we got there, in the afternoon.  We were the last to arrive. Daddy took Taylor and me and sat down between us on Momma's inherited (from her mother) antique couch and told us about the Valentine's day poems they had written each other, about her last moments.  We cried some more.

Madeleine Peyroux, one of my favorite vocalists, sings a song called Prayer.
This is what I imagine Momma's last thoughts were like...
Lord, I must be strong now
I don't belong now
In this world anymore

I'll say a final prayer for
Those I care for
Who've kept my company

My destiny is clear
I'm dying to have you near
To me

Lord
I don't belong now 
If you are waiting
I am not afraid to die

I'm prepared to go
Divide my body and soul
Won't you

Lord
I won't be long now
If you are waiting
I am not afraid to die

Have mercy, Lord
I'm told it's paradise
To have and to hold

Lord
I must be strong now
I don't belong now
In this world anymore

Lord
I won't be long now
If you are waiting
I am not afraid to die

We had arrived. We were there in the house without Momma, but she was still there.  We were face to face with her death, which we had been anticipating for months, but never expecting.  A year ago today, as I sat on that couch with Daddy between Taylor and me, quiet grief set in. The rush to make it home was gone. The busy-ness in Boston had been left behind. Hurry vanished. There was only "after" left. And all there is to do with after is let it linger a while, keeping company amidst the tears.  

Today, it seems to me, the after has departed, as gently as it came: like a mist in the trees that settles in the night and is burned away by the bright morning Sun.  There are still tears of course, dripping from the dew-laden boughs of memory.  Mist still lingers in damp depressions under trees. But the Sun is definitely shining. It's a brand new day.

Moment By Moment

This time last year, I remember doing the dishes while T was doing his homework.  I was crabby. And irritable.  I snapped some remark to him as I went to finish the dishes, "letting" him do his homework.  As I scrubbed our dinner plates off, I realized  why I was particularly irritable.  I was worried about Momma.

This time last year, the doctors told her they could do nothing else for her.  About this time last year, she went with Daddy to make funeral preparations and pick out a coffin.  She wanted "a plain pine box."  So that's what they ordered.  I was worried I wouldn't see her again.  I felt helpless--that I wasn't doing any good "way out here in Boston" and I wished I could be at home, closer to Momma. And I was taking it all out on Taylor.

When I realized why I was being snappy, I started to cry. That's not a good reason to be mean (is there a good reason to be mean?). If you're worried about something, the best thing to do is get it out in the open, to talk about it, to share the burden that's in your heart.  I dried off my hands and went over to where T was studying to apologize and explain why I was upset.  He listened and held me as I cried to him about Momma and Daddy.

About this time last year, I booked a plane ticket to CA to attend the CCD congress with my parents and younger sister.  Flights are really cheap this time of year--after the holidays but before most students' spring breaks begin.  My ticket was only $200, on a weekend.  It was worth so much more than that to me.

This time last year, I began to think about doing a 365 photo project.  I didn't know if I would make it a year taking a photo every day, but, I figured, it was worth a shot.  I decided to start my project at the beginning of Lent.  If I couldn't make it through Lent, I knew I wouldn't make it a year, so it was a good starting point.

This time last year, I was forced to come to grips with my mother dying.  We knew at this point that there was little time left.  The doctors kept shortening their "estimate."  Maybe a year. Six to nine months. One to three months. Every time I talked to her on the phone, I told her I loved her and that I was praying for her.  We didn't talk very long when I'd call because the pneumonia made her cough a lot.  I miss talking to her, even for those short periods of time.

A year is a funny thing.  Some years, we don't notice the days ticking away at all. Other years, the moments seem to drag by, one by one, never moving quickly enough.  Most of the time, it's a little bit of both.  I just keep reminding myself to be thankful for the moments.  I remember moments, not years.  I remember faces, and hugs, and tears. I remember insights, and feelings, and smiles.  Live in the moment. Love in the moment. We die in the moment.  Rejoice in the moment.

Oh Christmas

Christmas Eve was a busy day.  This year, Viv and I learned, in a very hands-on way, how hard Momma worked to make Christmas each year for us.  I know she was there with us this year, helping to make our Christmas wonderful too.

She'd spend hours and hours for weeks before Christmas baking and prepping and decorating and shopping.  We'd easily have 10 different kinds of cookies, several flavors of biscotti, various other homemade cakes and candies, and all manner of candy from the store (yes, it was very easy to gain weight over the holidays at Momma's house) :)  It was glorious!

Every time she'd go out shopping (all through the year, probably), she'd be thinking about Christmas. She'd pick out "something here" "something there" and little tiskets and taskets for our Christmas piles and baskets.  For several years, I helped her wrap presents on Christmas Eve.  She would make the Kringle, and I would wrap--and wrap and wrap, curling ribbon, labeling gift tags, sticking bows on--for hours. The present pile would grow in heaps around me--on the floor, on chairs, on the table--and on my parents bed seemed to remain an un-shrinking pile of more presents to wrap.  Of course, I never wrapped any of my own presents. Viv did that :)

Momma would always oversee the decorating (which, in many ways, was an ongoing process throughout December), telling us where to put each nativity set, and reminding us where certain decorations always went (the twangy Jingle Bell music box always hung between the kitchen and the living room; the Santa music box on the wall next to the mirror).

Dinner on Christmas Eve was either all-you-can-eat fried shrimp or (in the "good ol' days") hamburgers while driving around the neighborhood viewing Christmas lights.  I remember talking to Momma when I was older, noting that so many families had big Christmas Eve dinners, rivaling Thanksgiving Feasts.  She told me she was always too tired to make a "big fancy dinner" on Christmas eve. Last year our Byzantine Holy Supper was definitely a collaborative effort.  It was great, but it was a lot of work!

And then at night, after dinner, even when we were old enough to help her with presents and last minute details, she'd send us to bed long before she went herself. She would stay up, cleaning the kitchen, or wrapping the few gifts she had to find herself in her closet, or putting the finishing touches on the last of the cookies she was baking for us to eat the next day.

So naturally, this Christmas Eve, Viv and I had our hands full. We had done some shopping the day before, for stocking-stuffers.  I couldn't find ornaments I liked (Momma got us each an ornament every year), so I painted some ceramic trinkets from the "leftovers" in the ceramic cupboard.  I sealed them on Christmas Eve, ready to be hung on the stockings. I was even doing some sewing that morning, finishing a gift for Taylor... Momma was looking over my shoulder, I'm sure.

Christmas Eve Mass with Bethany + kids in the evening.

It was so cute to see Michael and Rachel dressed up as a Ram and a Ewe (respectively)--cotton ball t-shirts, of course!  Then Daddy, Viv, T and I came home or Christmas dinner.  I had initially thought (ambitiously) that we could do another Holy Supper.  But (surprise?) when we got home, I was too tired!  I asked everyone if they minded just a shrimp dinner :) and they said it was alright. So that's what we did.  I think we even watched a movie while eating.  Momma was probably chuckling at us :)

I had Viv wrap the stocking presents for Taylor, Daddy, and me.  I had T wrap Viv's stocking presents.  I made the Kringle. Viv cleaned up the kitchen and baked Crispy Chocolate Chip cookies for Daddy.  Daddy looked through the closet for more presents we could wrap.. presents Momma had bought earlier in the year, intending them for various people at Christmas.  Even there, she was with us.

I think Taylor went to bed first (he was still recovering from law school finals!), and Daddy went to bed next, once he was convinced there were no more presents in the closet, and once he had sampled the cookies Viv and I were working on :)

I sent Viv to bed around 2, after we had stuffed the stockings together and the kitchen was mostly clean. I stuffed Taylor's and Vivian's stocking. She stuffed Daddy's and mine.  I had to stay up for just a bit longer for the Kringle.

The house was quiet.

Christmas was ready.

I thought of Momma, laying out all our Santa presents in our respective piles (sometimes we would even pick out which chair we wanted our presents left on, informing her of our choices) :)

I thought of Momma, gingerly placing the baked Kringle on pretty platters on the pretty table, draped with a clean Christmas tablecloth, with the Winter Tea set ready for Christmas morning breakfast.  I thought of her going from room to room, checking on her sleeping children and children-in-law, blessing us as she went.

As I turned out the lights in the kitchen and walked through the softly glowing dining room, past the luminous (if Tiny) Christmas Tree, I whispered my prayers of Thanks for a wonderful evening spent in a House filled with Love.

As I climbed in to bed and snuggled up to my husband, I thought of Momma and Daddy, and how nothing in my life would be as Good as it is if it weren't for the deep Love they shared with each other and the Love and Grace they accepted from Christ throughout the years of their marriage, and even now.  And I'm sure I fell asleep with Momma all around me, around her family, and her desert house, as she whispered her own prayers and blessings for us early on Christmas morning.

Christmastime is Here

Take-Out on Kutani

T and I arrived in CA late on the 21st.  Vivian picked us up from the airport, we ate at In-n-Out (oooh, the beautiful wonders of great burgers!), and drove the three hours up to Daddy's house. That is, Viv drove, and Taylor talked to her.. I was konked in the back seat after finishing a blue Christmas present (aHEM, Garrett).

We were greeted when we drove up to the house by cheery Christmas lights hanging on the pergola. Thanks, Daddy :) It was good to come home to that, late at night, with the stars out and the air crisp and cool--it made it feel more like Christmas (you may remember I was having a hard time getting in the Christmas groove).  We brought our bags in and said goodnight to Daddy and went to bed.

But Tuesday was Vivian's birthday, and there was work to do!  Daddy went to work, and Taylor went for a run. So Viv and I tidied up the house and got out the Christmas decorations box (y'know those huge dishpack boxes that movers use?).  Daddy had purchased a 3-food tree at a garage sale this winter (the flocked tree Momma got last year decided it was done (flockin' tree)), so Viv and I put the Small Tree up with Daddy's Santa ornaments on it, and Momma's wax angel from Germany.  We also put lights around the window behind the tree. A very Christmasy room was the result.

Throughout the day we spent a lot of phone calls trying to figure out what we wanted to do for Viv's birthday dinner. We didn't really want to go out to eat, but we weren't really set up for cooking a big dinner at home (at Daddy's or Bethany's).  So the verdict:  sushi take-out!

Actually, it turned out pretty spectacular.  We warmed up some leftover rice, and Bethany came out with her three sweetie-kids. Daddy picked up our sushi order on his way home from work.  None of us felt bad for having take-out for dinner since none of us know how to make sushi better than a restaurant.  But not to be outdone (what would Momma have said if we ate out of styrofoam on a birthday?!), we pulled out Momma's kutani china, which looks beautiful under any kind of tasty food, and served the sushi on that.

And it was delicious! And so filling! And so blessedly easy :)

After dinner, we all sat down to chat and had a good evening. I gave Bethany (and Lorna) an early Christmas present, which they seem to be enjoying :)

And we made silly faces together.

Taylor and Michael wrestled.

Wednesday, the eve of Christmas Eve, we all (everyone) went shopping. It was then that I began to realize, in practical application, how hard Momma worked for Christmas every year.  Granted, she was shopping for Christmas every time she was at the store throughout the year (how's that for foresight, eh?), but even so, it was just hard to find little things here and there that people would enjoy.  But we had a good day spending time together.

I think T and Daddy had a better time once they freed themselves from the women and children, though.

Understandably. We're pretty silly :)

You Think You're So Funny, Don't You?

ha, ha, HA, Boston.

I want you to know I don't think you're very funny.

Planning a snowy-white Christmas while I'm in the dry-bones dessert of CA, hmm?

It seems that every place gets a white Christmas.

Except the place where I am.

So here's to my 27th non-white Christmas...

maybe next year?

CA Pictures

Here's a link to my album of pics from our CA visit. What fun!

May CA!

Crazy?

Our visit to CA:

Family BBQ and a birthday party for three grandkids.

Mass w/ the family.

Babysitting nieces and nephews.

Babysitting more..

and more..

and sewing a bit.

Chatting with my Daddy and the sibs.

Cleaning the house and sorting through heirloom treasures.

God-mother-ing at a double-baptism (only God mother once, though) :)

Cleaning some more before the reception and family pictures.

A great evening with good friends...

and lots more family!

Mass again with the WHOLE family (amazing!)

Pizza and the best breadsticks ever!

Carpooling with three children in our car to the airport.

Home on a red-eye to Boston.

Exhuasting Monday.

Better Tuesday. But still can't sleep right now...

See? A great visit.

Check out the flickr photos:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/renidemus/sets/72157614384333326/

I'll try to post some Picasa pictures soon, too. And the toy truck pictures, Summer :)

Pictures

Here's a link to my Picasa page.  Check out some of my pictures if you have time :)

http://picasaweb.google.com/ablack429

Here are some of my favorite albums: 

Swing!

Arrival and Viewing