Falling Victim...and Liking It!

I love Christmas. I love the reason for the season and I love all the activities that follow. Fun, Family, Friends, Food. One thing that has always been common knowledge amongst my inner circles--I HATE Christmas Music. And I blame Retail. After one horrible Holiday Season working in the Mall at at store that was Going Out of Business, I have lost all affection for Christmas Music...and Enya, while we're at it. But as I was driving home earlier today I found myself singing along too Christmas Music on the radio (probably because there was nothing else on-and I forgot to reload my iPod). Guess I was just giddy over the festivities. Mom's Christmas Day dinner, which in previous years has only included the four in my family, plus four grandparents, has swelled to over 25 this year, 8 of them under 10 years old. Wow. Look at the time. I better get to sleep if I'm going to keep up with everything tomorrow. Merry Christmas to all as I find myself humming a montage:

Walking home from our house Christmas Eve.
On a cold winter's night that was so deep
He led them down the streets of town
Go tell it on the mountain.
Fast away the old year passes,
We can hardly stand the wait
Good tidings we bring to you and your kin
From now on, our troubles will be miles away

Digging through the Past

The holiday season is always a peculiar time in my hometown. In a town where the population hasn't changed in the last 2o-some-odd years, one fact remains the same...the population is always changing. Stay with me on this. The year I graduated there were approximately 300 graduates spread between the town's two high schools. Figure that there are also 300 kids born that year (to make 300 graduates in 18 years...) Yet, the census figures stay that same. That means that each year approximately 300 people move out of town, to be replaced by the newborns--that doesn't even start to take into account the deaths, but you get where I'm going with this. A comment was made a few days ago - (Town Name) is a great town to be FROM...yeah... Anyway, the Christmas season inevitably turns the city into one giant merry-go-round, with people filing in for visits from whatever city they escaped to. Gatherings are held with friends and family alike, and the once yearly how-ya-been-what's-new-where-ya-at-now takes place. My first exposure to this year's festivities was tonight. My sister and I drove home to have our gift exchange with our closest family friends. The six of us (2 moms and 2 daughters each) spent 4 hours laughing at memories past, in the nearly 35 years of family friendship--and yet the stories never seem to repeat themselves. This is the part of the year that I like best. When we can all come together and spend a few minutes remembering what it was like before life got in the way.

Refill my Glass, Please?

Sometimes the mind is so full of rubbish that you've got to muddle through it all before out comes something great, intoxicating, and enticing for more. Such is the same for mojitos. Such a wonderful little drink is the result of the muddling about of several ingredients. Today, this is an exercise in muddling--sifting through all of the pieces and producing for the most excellent concoction. Well, not really, but it sounded good. It's like a song...ever really listen to the words? Sometimes an artist gets it just right and you feel as though the song speaks directly to you, for it so perfectly vocalizes what you are feeling at that precise moment. Love, anger, lust, hatred-there is a song that speaks to it all. I remember an exercise that my friend and I used to do years back in high school algebra class. We would pass notes back and forth, like any other freshman, but our notes were complete gibberish to anyone who intercepted it. A note from her would start with a line from a song-any song-just something that pertained to what it was that she was trying to tell me. My response to her? A rebuttal, another line from another song. And thus continued the conversation. Those notes would go on for pages, transcribed over days-how we learned anything in that class, I'll never know. Furthermore, how in the hell did we manage to never get caught! I sent her an email a few weeks ago when I decided that I was going to start writing again, just to find out if she kept those old notes. She did! I'm one trip home away from 10 years of lyrics and laughter. Until then, something to pass the time...

I work too hard to call my life my own
Every now and then I fall apart
dragged the memories down the hall

Just in case we ever face to face and make contact
The only one who's got enough of me to break my heart
You grow up, grow old or hit the road ’round here

a new look at an old outfit

Some people say writer's block. I say bullshit. It's not a matter of what to write, it's more a matter of what to write. For instance--it has been years since I have seriously written anything, save for a few Myspace blogs and the yearly Valentine's Day rant. But in the past, I've written editorials for magazines, poetry, and the not so often attempt at a short story idea. Emails to friends are often a tongue-in-cheek look at the events around me, wistfully packed of short remarks and clever quips about society. So, alas, sets the decision before me -- I am to put paper to pen -- and the decision set before me -- not what do I write, but really, seriously, what do I write? Do I delve back into the world of the fantasy, or to I spell out my thoughts in poem? Perhaps it becomes an essay, a series of renderings on the issues floating aorund in my head. Oh, God help us all.