There are no bells in my neck of the woods to hear at Christmastime, for I live at the end of a country road and the one church I know that rings bells in town is too far away for me to enjoy. But no matter! The beautiful words of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, so lyrical and grounded in sentiment, roll through my mind so wild and sweet.
It’s generally a great day for me when I’m able to cross a number of items off my “To Do” list and feel organized in the process. This might amount to running errands in a circular direction around town so I’m not criss-crossing routes, therefore wasting gas and time.
I really like texting, especially with my kids. It’s definitely less intrusive, yet it opens the door to a conversation if the timing is right.
According to the travel expert on Good Morning America this week, now is the time to make travel plans for the holidays. I’m reminded that gone are the days when gathering my family members for a holiday celebration amounted to calling upstairs to the kids in their bedrooms. They have scattered like leaves in a wind and their young adult responsibilities now impact their time spent at home.
I’m not at all sure when it happened, because I used to be a political animal of sorts. During the years I was a student I consistently ran for various leadership positions and won. I enjoyed the campaigning, hashing out the issues, and the companionship of those who debated with me. I liked organizing programs and working with people.
I am all about making lists. I like using long, narrow notepads and my favorite Bic Round SticGrip, fine tipped, blue inked pen. A notepad with a magnetic strip stays on my refrigerator and I keep a running list of food items that need to be purchased the next time I run into town. Another pad stays with my planner so I can easily keep track of things I hope to accomplish each day.
On Monday, while reading Facebook posts, I learned of the unintentional death of the 16-year-old son of treasured college friends. Two days later, when Justin’s parents appeared before the media to say it appears their son died in a tragic prank or a choking game accident, it seemed clear that my support of them would begin here.
I grew up near the foothills in Southern California and each fall we worried about wildfires. The year the foothills near my home caught fire was the year my dad was acting principal of the nearby high school and stayed with several hundred students evacuated to the school when the foothill fire sprang up, dangerously near our neighborhoods.
It was five years ago that I watched my TV screen in horror as the lives of thousands of families were dismantled by Hurricane Katrina.
No doubt the summer of 2010 will be remembered as the summer we looked out upon a sea of fog. Morning after morning. Then, in what has seemed like a tease, the sun has managed to shine most days early afternoon into the evening. All this has done little for the garden I so greatly anticipated.
I have never rafted down the Colorado River or gone swimming with dolphins; held a koala or zip lined across tree tops. But I have witnessed the Northern Lights. Twice.
Each morning, as I ready myself for the day, I watch “Good Morning America” and find the amount of activity immediately behind Robin Roberts and George Stephanopoulos quite fascinating. Headquartered in one of the world’s great cities, the program’s studio incorporates massive windows that frame the buzz of humanity and nonstop commerce that is New York City.
I have lived the great majority of my life in coastal communities. I’ve walked beaches and collected shells; drawn inspiration from the rhythm of ocean waters and spent the happiest of moments gathering and cooking the gifts of the sea.
