A Prayer Of Thanksgiving

Almighty God, we give you thanks
for this life and all its blessings,
for joys great and simple,
for gifts and powers more than we deserve,

for love at the heart of your purpose
and wisdom in all your works,
for light in the world brought once in Christ
and always shining through your Spirit.

Giving thanks to you we pray
for that light to dawn upon us daily
that we may always have grateful hearts,
and a will to love and to serve you
to the end of our days.

Hear our prayer and our praises,
through Jesus Christ our Lord.

AMEN
--The Book of Common Prayer

NYC

I love New York City: The hurry-scurry, ethnic-diversity, culturally-rich, uppity-attitude of it all. It is so very Not Chicago, and I love Chicago with all my heart. New York is different. It is immense and grand with a Roller-Coaster-Ride Feel.

On Wednesday, we took the train from Stamford to Grand Central Station, and walked right into Build-A-Bear at Little Squirt's insistence. He wanted a "new best friend," and promptly made a black teddy which he dressed in Darth Vader gear and named, with great creativity and thought, "Darth Vader." We then walked up 5th Avenue to Rockefeller Center. We watched them put the finishing touches on the great Christmas tree, which will be ceremoniously lit next week. The weather was slightly misty but warm, and we stood for a while, watching the skaters.

We strolled through Times Square and stopped long enough for Butterfly to take a picture with The Naked Cowboy. I have to give the cowboy credit! He has found his shtick and made it work for him. He wears cowboy boots, whitey-tighties and carries a guitar, strategically placed. He charges $1 a picture. He has been on numerous tv shows and once even ran for mayor of New York City, before withdrawing from the race. He was actually quite charming. His monetary success has made me ponder potential job possibilities for myself in Chicago. Hmmm....Housewife Wearing A Bathrobe on Navy Pier?

Our day in New York concluded with a pizza dinner on 44th Street with Super Hub's charming cousin, Krista. Pizza Margherita is my absolute favorite, and tastes especially yummy in The Big Apple. Go figure.

Over The River And Through The Woods...

It was a nightmare-ishly long drive yesterday, but without incident. It was great to have Butterfly back in the car with us. It felt complete. Listening to the two teens argue from the backseat...ahh....that's how it is supposed to be. Good times.

We drove through four states to get to our destination. Little Squirt asked twelve bazillion times: "Are we in Grandma's country yet??" There were crazy scary drivers on the road, reading kindles and shaving whiskers and drifting into our lane. For serious- it was a free-for-all. And we hit insane rush hour traffic in New Jersey. But we finally reached the George Washington bridge; the gateway to years of family memories. Driving across the Hudson and viewing the evening Manhattan skyline was life-giving. I love New York!

We pulled into my mother-in-law's Connecticut driveway a short time later and piled into her home with the subtlety of a nuclear bomb. Little Squirt skated across her hardwood floors: "I LOVE Grandma's house! The floors are so slippery!" And later, gorging on her homemade ziti with meatballs, we unwound.

It is good to be in our Home-Away-From-Home. I have over 20 years of memories of warm, pleasant stays in thie beautiful house in Stamford. And it feels really good to have all three of my children sleeping under my roof again.

CT OR Bust Out The Airborne

The Bad Timing Illness has hit our family. Little Squirt came down with a fever and cough on Saturday night, and I followed suit by Sunday. And today we packed up the mini-van and headed east to spend the holiday with the ‘rents. We’ve decided to share the wealth of our germies with the state of Connecticut. It seems fair. Last time I was there I caught a cold, so we’ll call it even.

I settled my feverish self down into the shotgun seat and slept for the first 2 hours of the trip. I coughed and hacked my way through our dinner at McDonalds, the upside being that I cleared tables in a jiffy and so we got our pick.

Now we are safely ensconced in our little hotel in my daughter’s college town in OH where we will spend the night.
My favorite things about this place:
1.) My daughter brings all her college friends over to swim, and management is fine with that.
2.) They serve complimentary hot drinks, and I am sucking down the orange spice tea at present.
3.) Their killer breakfast.

So tomorrow we will cross another 4 states into Connecticut. I’m hoping for a smooth and healthy journey. And I’m grateful I’ll have my daughter in the car with us!

On Being A Star

I am parenting a Stage Kid, and I have just recently figured that out. The child I am speaking of is Little Squirt.

My older two were not Stage Kids. They each took a few acting classes as youngsters, and were less than enthused. And I dragged them into some church dramas I was cast in. I labeled it: “Mandatory Performing For Jesus.” Neither of them wanted anything to do with that. They hated being up on stage in front of hundreds of people.

Little Squirt, however, was cut out of a different cloth. He longs for the spot light. He sits up close to the television and sings and dances to Sponge Bob and iCarly. He imitates each and every movement he sees, pausing the tv, practicing, rewinding and trying again. He told me he wants his own tv show on Disney, and how could I get him one?

This weekend the vocal team he is on sang for the children’s church for the first time. He simply glowed. With each performance, I saw him stand taller, more confident, and energetic. And during the very last song of the last service, he tried to hijack the microphone. As the vocal team leader addressed the audience before the song, he leaned in toward the mic, tapped it a few times, and blew. From the sound system came a soft, thunder-like acoustic. I tried to catch his eye and motioned him to move back into place. He ignored me. I believe he was encouraged by his feeling of power. So when the music and song began, he moved up a couple of inches and tried to sing directly into the mic he was sharing with two other children. Startled by the sound of his solo voice, he moved quickly back into place and became part of the team again.

But his zest for Stardom was ignited. He loved every second of performing, and wanted me to count out how many days were left before he could be on stage again. A true Stage Kid. I may need to take him to Hollywood.

Maybe A Little Bach Will Help?

My Fantasy Ideal Self has a green thumb. She is also a gifted harpest and can speak fluent French, if I were to continue dreaming.

I had a green thumb when I was a child, cultivated out of a need to nurture. I loved animals and desperately wanted a pet. But my brother was allergic, and even begging my parents to keep a tiny hamster in my bedroom with the door closed at all times did not convince them. My mom was not an animal lover, and I secretly think my brother’s allergies gave her the excuse she needed not to have pets. She insisted on a spotless, dander-free home.

So my longing for a pet to love projected into a love for houseplants. I began to buy them with my allowance, and by age 10, had quite a collection. I had Spider plants, Cacti, Philodendrons, and Ivies of all kinds. I named evey one I had. I would choose a new plant with the same kind of care that people take in picking out a puppy. Then I’d bring the new plant home and research its care. I became a young expert on houseplants of many varieties. I had all their Latin names memorized, and knew how to propagate them. I dreamed about owning a home some day with a green house. And I had serious aspirations about becoming a Botonist, or bulding a plant business.

Eventually, as I became a teen, my passion for plants waned, evolving into a passion for boys, clothes and makeup. My plants died out, and I didn’t give them a second thought when I went to college. Somehow I Iost my green thumb.

As an adult, I have a hard time keeping houseplants alive, mostly because of my cats. I sometimes get wistful for the days of my Green Thumb Past Self, when I carefully tended to the life of a Maidenhair fern and watch it flourish. But that doesn’t seem possible in my current life season. Maybe someday I’ll attempt again or try my hand at gardening. My Fantasy Ideal Self would have a flourishing vegetable and herb garden, and no aversion to earthworms. But for now, I buy a few potted plants every spring, and that’s about as green as I get.

I brought a plant inside this week. It has served me well by decorating my front porch for the past 6 months, so I thought I’d reward it with a warm, cozy retreat for the winter. And, since it is going to spend the cold months bunking with my family, I thought that it needed a name. So I asked Little Squirt what we should call it. He took one look at the plant, frowned and said, “Let’s call it Dead.”

Hmmm. Maybe I should purchase a Prayer plant to live next to it?

Senssssational

A generous friend gave me a gift card to a spa, and I finally decided to spend it this week. I couldn’t have the dog upstaging me in the ways of Pamperdom! I made an appointment to indulge in a full-body massage, or, in Spa-Speak: An Elemental Nature Massage.

I’ve had one other massage in my life only, mostly because I tend to be neurotic. There's something about lying unclothed on a table while a stranger touches me and judges my cellulite that unnerves me. But I decided to let go of my inhibitions and be freed-up to enjoy the experience, while a trained professional worked on the knots in my shoulders.

Still, I had a bit of angst as I walked through the Spa door. I was relieved when the receptionist asked me if I’d like a drink while I waited. “Oh, that’d be great!” I said with a sigh, thinking how a little inebriant would be perfect thing to help me relax. “I’ll take a Bellini!” I announced happily. Already my experience was sounding delightful! There was an awkward pause, and then she answered, “We have cucumber water, Aveda tea, or coffee.” Oh.

Cup of tea in hand, I followed the receptionist down the Massage Wing, where she led me to a quaint little locker room, with the instructions to change into a robe and slippers. Then she scurried away, leaving me to my privacy. I examined the contents of my locker. A thick robe, towel, and slippers. And what was this? A cute, cotton miniskirt with velcro to fasten. I changed into the skirt, robe and slippers. The ginormous robe would have comfortably fit a line-backer in uniform. And the slippers were five sizes too large. Nevertheless, I shuffled out to the private waiting room in my large Spa Getup, and sat gawkily sipping my tea. I listened to the piped-in New Age music and tried to de-stress. Ah yes, it was so soothing to be sitting naked in a strange living room, wearing a bathrobe that would have fit the Octomom right before delivery! I felt as sophisticated as a toddler looks wearing her mom’s dress-up clothes.

Sheena (as in Sheena, Queen of the Jungle) was to be my masseuse. I imagined her large and gruff, with big hands that enabled her to swing from tree to tree. But it was an exotic-looking brunette who greeted me professionally, and led me to a candle-lit room. She invited me to sit on a chair and have a foot soak while she brought me on a “journey of the senses.” I closed my eyes and chose from a trio of soothing fragrances. Eucalyptus. Then she asked me quietly, “Do you have any problem areas?” I sighed. This was wonderful! A bonus counseling session accompanying the footsoak! This must be what the literature meant by it being "wholistic."
“I am struggling to understand my teenager,” I asserted.
“I meant areas of tension in your body,” she said quickly. Oh. I paused awkwardly, recognizing that every muscle in my body was now rigid with embarassment.

Drying off my feet, she instructed me to take off my robe while she left the room, and then lay on the bed. “What about the skirt?” I asked. “Do I take that off as well?”
“Skirt?” she looked puzzled.
I lifted my robe to show her the cute cotton mini.
“That would be a facial towel,” she said without emotion, and left the room. Oh.

I lay on the bed, head down in the padded circular head-ring, trying to get comfortable. There must be a secret to this, I thought. How do I possibly relax when I am laying in an odd position and looking like an idiot?? It shouldn’t be this hard! I worried that I'd leave the massage experience more stressed than when I came in!

Sheena entered the room, rearranged my sheets, and began. Ahhh.....I let go. All sense of vulnerability and discomfit disappeared under her magic hands. She was good! I completely melted into the table as I felt every bit of tension loosen through her technique. My neurotic, anxious self viritually oozed into tranquility. I completely relaxed.

Bliss. I highly recommend a good massage every now and then. It was better than wonderful. And that, my friends, is Soul Care.

Rudy

I have odd pets. They say that animals take on the personality of their owners. If that’s true......hmmm.....

I took the Hairy Dachshund in for a Spa Day. His long hair was tangled and unruly because he refuses to brush it, and therefore was dragging in leaves and twigs from the backyard. They were getting all over my floors and making me insane. So I took him in for a trim and a pedi, which was a feat in itself, mostly because the dog won't leave my house except to potty. He’s the only canine I know who deplores walks. When he saw me get out his leash, he hid under the bed. And trying to get him into the car was nearly impossible. I pushed him in; he hopped out; I pushed him in; he hopped out. What finally worked was keeping a viselike grip on his scruff while quckly slamming the door with my other hand. He then spent the entire car ride howling, trying to climb on my lap, and piddling on the seat.

By the time we got to the Spa, I was in need of a spa. And was the dog grateful that I was treating him to a trim and a pedi? Absolutely not. While I signed him in, he tried to escape out the door. When the groomer came to collect him, he showed her his backside and refused to make eye contact.

But it was well worth all the fuss. In a couple of hours, my dog was transfomed from a long-haired dachshund to a short-haired one with an attitude. He pranced back into our home and paraded his new ‘do in front of the cats. I think they’re jealous.