If I Could Do My Home Over

The father of the Arts & Crafts Movement, William Morris, had a golden rule about living in and decorating a home:

"Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful." Through the course of my various homes, that's what I've attempted.  Living close to Frank Lloyd Wright's, Falling Water and visiting it rekindled my interest and love of this very influential movement.

If I had to do it all again, I'd search for the perfect bungalow.  One with great bones.

A home with a welcoming front porch and painted to blend with its natural surroundings.

A sweet space that makes you want to stop and stay awhile.

And an interior full of honey colored wood with bright pops of paint.

With a fire place or two large and commanding.  One that can warm you from head to toe.

I'd have a Craftsman home that tickles the senses with lots of built-in useful spaces inviting you to rest and renew.

With great attention to detail where no surface is considered to mundane for artistic touches.

And where all parts of a home are useful and ingeniously fashioned. No space is wasted.

A home with tiny spaces that charm and sooth.  A home with an inglenook or two...

And my windows are interesting and allow the home to be flooded with natural light. Light that touches the oak and turns it to honey.

And my bungalow would have stained glass accents; art for the common man and not just the wealthy.

A home where textiles delight with the fanciful colors rich and drawn from nature.

A Craftsman home where a kitchen invites one to create and share.

And, while I might not want the bathroom to go back to the early 1900s, there is something charming about the rustic simplicity of it all.

If I had to do it all again, I'd live in a Craftsman Home with arts & crafts of artisans close at hand to remind me that Human Beings are so very creative and where you'd feel safe and loved when you sat here with me.

I'd live in a home where you feel special and unique and where it seems possible to have days of ordinary miracles all around you.

Namaste' Till Next Time,
Holly aka She Who Always Has An Open Door

Tiny Spaces Huge Charm

The Tiny House movement that is huge right now fascinates me! I suppose it is a push back against the trend of McMansions that swept the nation in the 90s. And for Millennials, who aren't big on possessions preferring experiences instead, a tiny house is a way to live mortgage free so money can be used for other things.

I have always preferred small spaces.  Creatively designed.  That function well and don't rely on square footage in order to work.

I prefer apartments to houses with multiple floors.

I prefer charming to impressive while being impressively charming...

I like the idea of being able to stand in the center of my space and immediately see my world.

Looking out from my tiny corner of the world to what waits beyond a gate...

A wee outdoor space to recharge and renew...

If one is to live successfully in a tiny home, an outside living space is a must...

And inside, one must pair down stuff to the essentials making all that remains a treasure easily seen.

There's a story book quality to tiny homes....

But of all of them, this one....this one is the tiny home of my dreams!  Isn't it lovely?! Wouldn't you just love to visit with me here?

How about you?  Could you, would you live in a Tiny Home?  I suspect that if it looked like these, the answer is a huge YES!

Namaste' Till Next Time,
Holly

Silent Sermon Sunday

Namaste' Till Next Time,
Holly 

Silent Sermon Sunday

July 12 Another One

So any way you look at it, today is July 12 and that means I've seen this date dawn exactly 60 times.  60!  And that means that I went from 1 to 60 in a blink of an eye.

If you're younger than I am, you probably won't believe that it goes that quickly, but well, you'll find out.  Really.  It's just a question of time. For some reason, this birthday has really made me think.  60; it sounds so significant.  So old!  When I'm driving along and people look over at me, they're seeing an older woman, maybe even an old woman driving that car.  When I'm in the check out line at the grocery, it's an old woman who is chatting them up.  And on a good day, maybe they don't view me as old; maybe they appreciate me as wise and worldly.  I'm hoping that I'm thought of as that more than old, but hey, I've learned I can't control the thoughts of others.

60 years means I know that I need to be grateful because any day above the grass line is a day full of potential.  And I also realize the truth in the expression, "Do not grieve growing old; it's a privilege denied to many." So, I'm going to really dig down until I figure out what this turning to the start of my Sixth Decade actually means to me, why it seems so large and well, odd.  How can I actually be 60 when in my mind where I live and it's sunny all the time, I'm 28 years old?!

Life has changed so much in so many ways, not the least of it how we acknowledge birthdays.  This year, I received only five cards.  They're lined up on my mantle so I can see the bright colors and feel warm and happy.  Five doesn't sound like many, which it really isn't compared to previous years.  However, I got close to 100 wishes of various sorts and flavors on my Facebook page and my phone and in texts and email.  It's been an absolute blast reading and answering all of them.  Spending time with all of those who want me to remember what I mean to them.  It's a beautiful thing.  Truly.

This past year has been a difficult one in so many ways.  The loss of Rory & Fiona, those beloved Scotties of mine, still shakes me and can leave me sad unexpectedly.  Out of nowhere, they'll show up in my thoughts and I'm not yet at the place where those visits simply bring memories and not the jarrring hole their leaving has left behind. We had months of worrying about Evan during his third tour in the Middle East, but the gift this birthday is he's home state-side once again.

People have moved away, or have moved to Their Next Place.  I miss them, thinking of them often. Yet, I know this birthday means another year where I'm waiting to see who comes into my life to bring new and different experiences.

I have to recognize that if  I hadn't turned 60, I wouldn't be here to wonder about what good things are coming my way; what new people I'm going to meet; what experiences I'll have, so I suppose I'd better just celebrate this day as quite an accomplishment.  And that's what I'm going to do.

Hey, July 12...I've seen you 60 times!  And once again, thank the God & Goddess I have shared my day with my beloved, Michael.  We had meals out and conversation.  We sat in the companionable quiet when words eluded us as we spun our thoughts.  We took a nap listening to the rain drum on the windows. And, I am blessed.



So happy birthday to us July 12.  This is what 60 looks like on me.  And, I'm still a work in progress.

Namaste Till Next Time,
Holly aka She who is older than she once was but not as old as she'll one day be...

All Treats- No Tricks!

"Perhaps on Thursday," suggested Melissa, "We should put on our pointy hats and finest gear and go to lunch!"  A Samhain lunch with my girl?  I'm in!  So that's what we did.  And, can I tell you?  We brought so many smiles out of people and the conversations?!  Oh, yeah, we had tons of people talking to us. Starting with our waiter who got a real kick out of us and then started asking questions about the pagan community in the Pittsburgh area and all things Hallo'een.  And he concluded with, "I'm just a hippie! But you two are cool; have a great day and Happy Halloween!"

All through our leisurely stroll through Home Goods and then Target, we got so many compliments about our hats and we felt that we had done a very good deed by bringing some momentary joy to others as well as really tickling ourselves!

Meanwhile on the other side of the state, Sebastian the Crab, aka Ava, and the Butterfly Princess, aka Livy, were all ready for their evening of dancing and running with all the goblins and creatures who infiltrated their neighborhood and ran door to door yelling and squealing with delight! Laura says, "Yeah, this is a pretty cool neighborhood to go trick or treating!" Sadly, we had rain and wind which put a damper on the evening here in the Laurel Highlands, but still, I was ready with the candy and some conversation. People, please tell your little monsters that they're supposed to cry, "Trick or Treat!!!," when the door is opened to them. I thought it was just me, but lately I hear a lot of people saying, "These kids don't even know to say it anymore!" I mean seriously, if they don't say it, it's just basically begging for candy! C'mon, work to keep the traditions alive!!!

So, despite the weather, this Crone had the most wonderful and blessed start to the New Year and a great start to November which is the month when we all try to count our blessings and give thanks.  So I'll start today on this Feast of All Souls and Saints by saying how thankful I am for all the wonderful Mothers, Maidens and Crones in my life.  Thank you for making me rich with all the gifts your bring to my life!

Namaste' Till Next Time,
Holly aka The Good Witch of The Laurel Highlands

July Jots And Musings

It's finally July again.  It is a month with lots of moments that mean something to me.  I wish I liked it more, but it falls right in the middle of summer and is always blistering hot.  And, hot and me?  Not a good combination.  I hate to be hot.  Hate. To. Be. Hot.  But, it's such a big month.  Birthdays for certain.  Canada Day and Independence Day here...major celebrations, parades, picnics, fireworks, (which by the way, Rory absolutely is phobic about which is another reason that July can work on my nerves.)

My next door neighbor Allen and I share the same birthday which is fun.  We generally get together for drinks and a "Cheers to us and our new year!" 

Vacations are a big part of July...and one can always look forward to that.  This year My Lion and I are headed to the New York Finger Lakes area.  We'll stay in a bed and breakfast and tour around on The Spyder seeing a new part of the country.  I am sure it will be fun.

I turn 58 years old on the 12th.  I  try reading that number and not wonder how I can be 58 when I'm certain that I'm really only 28.  There's a 30 year disparity there.  30 years....30 YEARS.  I know by today's standards that's not 'old' but it's mind altering to realize how different reality can be from the image and vision one holds in their head.

58; it's not old, but pretty substantial.  And yet, older as I am, I still remember Julys most clearly from my days as a kid on Howard & 27th Street in Baltimore.  The heat from all the concrete and asphalt.  The people coming out of their homes to sit on their front porches under the yellow glow of the many street lights.  Sitting and rocking, hoping to catch an errant breeze, talking over the low walls or rails that separated their porch from their neighbor's porch.  Rails low enough that you could throw a leg over to drop something off to them or borrow a cup of sugar.  Easily chat over if both were inclined. Large enough to respect the need of the other to simply sit and not talk.  Not eavesdrop on conversations that might be easy enough to hear but had nothing, whatsoever, to do with you.  Short enough to be neighborly; tall enough to be respectful. Such is life in row-homes.

Flower boxes on wide porch walls growing petunias or other mundane flowers that could withstand the heat of high summer in a city.  Or, in the case of my pragmatic grandmother, basil and herbs grown in an aluminum wash tub.  The sound of conversations or laughter more easily heard after the roar of rush hour cars had faded away.  Kids standing on the street corners in groups, laughing and being kids.  Until their noise got too big and then an adult would yell at them and tell them to move off.  Sometimes they did; sometimes they'd stand there in defiance.  At least until the beat cop strolled by and then they'd scatter.

For me as a kid, the 4th of July was a prelude to the much more important date of July 12.  My birthday was always way more important to me.  But one year, the year I was to turn 9, the 4th of July changed everything for me.

My Grand Pop got up and started his day as he always did, except for some reason, he decided to put on one of his good suites.  And, Nanny The World's Meanest Woman, chuffed at him for putting on his good clothes.  She strongly suggested he go change into something else because we were having a family picnic later and he was sure to get food on it.  But, he waved her off and went to sit out on the front porch.  He sat and waited for the time to pass until it was time for all of us to leave.

Nanny was on her way down the steps to get something out of the cellar when she felt as though she really needed to go check on Nick.  She thought it silly and started down the steps again, only to feel as though something was pulling at the back of her house dress.  She'd felt that before, when one of her six children turned out to be in serious trouble, but not for years.  Following her instincts she went back up and through the long house out to the porch.  She stood next to Pop who looked up at her and said quietly, "Mom, I don't feel so good," and he slumped into her.

Across the street Uncle Joe, Nanny's brother, happened to be sitting on his porch, a rare day off.  It being a holiday, his green grocery located across the alley from the back of our home was closed.  All the beautiful produce normally out on the steps locked tight inside.

Joe, saw and rushed across the street after yelling for Aunt Rose who raced out of their house.  Neighbors gathered and someone called an ambulance.  It came quickly.  But it drove away slowly to Union Memorial Hospital; no lights, no siren, no need because Grand Pop was gone.  Just that quickly.  Gone.  And the world changed for all of us.

Typical of a kid who has the myopic vision of one who has only been alive for a short time, I was totally angry with Pop.  His dying certainly meant the end of my birthday plans!  And, I never said a word to anyone about how disappointed I was in him for ruining my birthday, not to mention what I would always remember about The 4th of July!

I couldn't stay mad at him long.  Very shortly, my sadness over his leaving overtook any other thought or feeling.  I loved him.  And, his death was the very first one that I had experienced.  I knew other people had died, but he was the first person whom I loved and cared about that I had to process.

Shortly after his death, the family decided it would be better for Nanny if Dad and I moved in with her.  I didn't want to do that.  I liked our apartment over the restaurant!  We were just across the street from her, why did we have to move in?  But, I was a kid and had no say so we moved.  I had been all right with visiting with Nanny and Pop whenever I felt like it.  It was good to have another home to visit, like visiting with Aunt Rose and Uncle Joe across the street.  Or visiting with Aunt Rose and Uncle John on the other corner.  But, I sure didn't want to give up my home to move in with Nanny! 

Life went on again.  It always does.  And so many more Julys and Independence Days have come and been celebrated in my life.  Along with many more birthdays.  Now I'm glad that Pop went out with a bang on the 4th because I never ever forget him on that holiday and always stop to give him a thought and I love you.

But, this year it occurs to me that one of the reasons I don't always like the coming of my own birthday is colored by that 4th of July so very long ago when Grand Pop changed the world for me.  And, while I'm no longer sad over his passing, having the wisdom and experience to process it correctly, somehow, my birthday has never been as joyful for me.  That, I've never really been able to change.

Namaste' Till Next Time,
Holly aka Nicholas Dituri/Dietor's grand daughter

Ghostly Visits

There are many issues to confirm that I'm growing older.  One came in the mail the other day.  Tucked inside with the renewal form for my driver's license was a very 'helpful' pamphlet entitled, "Tips for The Mature Driver."  Kill me now.

Another also replays many nights; I hate it.  This inability to collapse into sleep without tossing and turning.  The worst is-- I fall asleep very quickly only to have my eyes flap open like a window shade snaps up without warning.

Last night was one of those.  It seemed it would go peacefully, seemed being the operative world.  I ran through the Distance Reiki list of all those animals and Humans who have requested Reiki to assist with their needs.  It's how I start and end my days.  At night, doing this work makes me relax and drift off.  Morpheus is waiting with arms extended, but some nights he plays me false and just as I enter his embrace, he closes his arms and evaporates.  Men...

But last night, tossing in bed as I watched the clock creep to 2AM, it felt different and a bit unsettling,  because I was visited by another circumstance that proves I've been alive for awhile now.  Last night I was visited by a chorus of faces that I have loved and who have died.  Unbidden they came.  Some I had not actively thought of in a long time; others are those few who I never not think on.

At first, I found all of them gathered in my consciousness more than a bit disconcerting.  I fretted about why they were all there of a sudden.  Did it mean something?  Was there a purpose?  What are you trying to tell me?!

Not my Dad, nor my Aunt Kat, nor any of my immediate family were there.  Instead, these were all dear friends.  People who had played a pivotal role, either in terms of my growth as a Real Human Being, or had died at points in my life to help me understand what it means to suffer loss.  Died and helped me experience what it means to lose someone I cared about and what life feels like after.

I slowly began to relax, realizing that they simply wished to visit to confirm that death doesn't change the truth of things.  Connections are still there.  Attachment still remains.  I sent Reiki blessings to each of them and thanked them for coming.  I confirmed that they are always with me and what a joy it is to see them again. They returned the same sentiments.

And, with spiritual hugs completed, I fell asleep. 

This morning, I still ponder why I would have had a party with Ghosts from my past...no answers yet.  I wonder how the brain works that it would conjure them unbidden like that.  Can a brain actually do that?  Or, is it that love is bigger than our brains and it can manifest all on its own, in images that we can recognize and understand?  No answers for these questions...

But, in the light of day, I'm able to realize that it is a blessing to have been reminded of all those who I have lived long enough to have loved and lost.  I suppose along with confirmation that I am aging, I am also slowly becoming a Real Human Being.  There is always a silver lining.

Namaste' Till Next Time,
Holly aka She Who Loves Them, Still

Silent Sermon Sunday

Let your secret dreams carry you far this week.

Namaste' Till Next Time,

Holly aka She Who Dreams

 

Ava Awwws

It occurs to me that Ava could be falling victim to Second Child Syndrome.  You know what I mean...the first child gets all the attention and the cooing and awing and then the second one comes along and we're too busy to take the time to coo.

I realize that this blog may also be part of that unfair happening; I know I was much more liberal with sharing Livy with all of you and I haven't been the same with Ava.  Now that I realize the error of my ways, well, I won't have it!  Little Ava is especially darling to my eyes because it's astounding how much she looks like my beloved Laura at this age.  Truly, it's like having baby Lar-Lar once again.

As you can tell, Ava will and does eat anything.  Even her birthday sign. 

Namaste' Till Next Time,
Holly aka Great Aunt Holly x2

Just One of Those Faces

I'm standing in a department store browsing. A woman asks me, "Do you know if they have this attachment for a Kitchen-Aide mixer?" As it happens, I don't but I do know where they have the stand mixers so I tell her that much and suggest she ask the clerk who I just saw in that area. She moves on. I continue browsing. Not for the first time has this happened to me. Actually, it happens quite often. I can be standing outside waiting and someone will ask me for directions. I used to get asked for the time quite a bit. Now we don't ever need to ask the time what with all the gadgets we have on our person that wink the time at us.

I used to wonder what it is about me that make people ask me these things. Now, after all these years, I've just come to accept, I must have one of those faces. But what is the quality that I give off that makes people think that out of all the people that surround them, I am the one they will ask?

I once had my astrology chart read. The woman who did this has a great reputation of being able to provide insight and accuracy about things of this nature. It was very interesting. One of the things she said was, "People think you are an expert. When you tell them something, they believe you. I'm not certain what this quality is, I just know that it's very much a part of who you are and how you are perceived."

I thought, "Wow...maybe that's why so many people ask me things!" And then the next thought was, "I need to be very aware of this and I best not take it lightly." From that day on, I've always tried to be aware of the power that words have and my ability to speak them. If people are going to believe me, I need to behave in a very credible way. It's a lot of responsibility.

I take it very seriously. If you ask me a question, I will do everything I can to give you a solid answer...even if I don't know you and you want to know about stand mixers.

At the same time I wonder about, why me? I also wonder about people who seem to be able to avoid all sort of Human contact. You know the ones I mean...the ones who can almost clear a path in front of them and see people move out of their way. The one who makes you feel like, "If this were the last person on earth, I still wouldn't ask them for directions!"

Do they do this on purpose? Do they give off some vibe that makes us avoid them? Do they practice this art, or are they caught in a bubble of silence that is years in the making? Did they start it? Or is it that others have isolated them for so long, that they now wear it like a steel armor?

When I am out and about, I talk with everyone. I don't have to know you. I will say, "hello," or make a passing comment. For me, a stranger is simply a friend whom I have not yet made. Often, people seem startled at first, but most will respond. When you smile at them, even with a slight hesitancy, the smile is returned.

Even if I don't smile, I try to make certain through eye contact that I saw them...truly saw them. And for just a second, the fact that they were in the same space and time with me, registered. They mattered.

And maybe that's why I have just one of those faces. One that seems safe; open; available. So that anyone who needs a momentary respite from the closed spaces we all occupy, can do so with a sense of safety.

But, truly, I don't know what it is about me. I just have a face that says, "It's all right, you can ask me." After all this time I've come to think of it as a gift.

Do you speak with strangers when you're out in the world? I do, and that has made the world seem a whole lot less strange.

Namaste' Till Next Time,
Holly aka She Who Will Answer You

Out of the Dark and Into The Light

It is Yule. The longest night and shortest day. The time to bring light into your home to scatter the dark spaces and places. A time to illuminate the dark corners of our thinking. To scatter our fears and concerns.

Tomorrow, the day grows by seconds and the night shrinks by those same seconds. The scales begin to tip into our favor of longer light and less dark. Tonight begins the New Year.

If you don't have a Yule log, that's all right, simply light a candle and watch the flame. Set your mind to the quiet of it and remember the gifts you have been given, and those who are still here to love you. Remember and smile at the ones who you love who left this life as well. They are still part of you even though it is now in a different way. Most likely you will feel them closer tonight as you do.

Being thankful for all you have and have experienced, opens the door to the new and sets the stage for good things to come to you in full measure.

I am grateful for the gift of love we have shared this year. See you in the New Year! A blessed Yuletide to you and yours!!

"See the blazing Yule before us...quickly now the old year passes...Fa La La La, La La La La!"

Namaste' Till Next Time,
Holly

What Child Is This?

This is my Nativity village. Please, click on the image to see it larger so you can enjoy all the people who live there. When I was about six or seven years old, Nanny The World's Meanest Woman, took me downtown during the Christmas season. She was on a very specific mission that trip.

She had decided that I should have a Creche. She didn't tell me what she had in mind until we got to the floor where there was a huge array of Nativity scenes all clustered together. Some were large, some very small. Some were simple and others grand. All brightly colored. The figures of some looked like works of art. I was amazed by all the people and all the baby Jesus and Marys and Josephs and shepherds and wise men. It was a sight and all these years later, I can still remember it clearly.

Nanny and I walked slowly, stopping to admire the figurines. When we got through all of them, it was then that she announced that she wanted to buy one for me. I could pick whichever one I wanted. Her only wish was that I pick one made in Italy, of course. I was absolutely thrilled; then I was overwhelmed. So many pretty ones to pick from. I took quite awhile deciding.

I finally rested on the manger with the deep blue background and the gold figurines. They seemed so rich and regal. I liked that they were different from all the other brightly painted ones. The angel watching over the baby was tall and stately. The baby's face was sweet and Mary seemed beautiful to me. A face that I imagined my Mother's might be, or hoped. I was still young enough to dream that my Mom would come home and we would meet.

We wrapped it up and took it home. I was thrilled to show Daddy. We put it under the Christmas tree and I remember sitting and gazing at it. It wasn't until the next Christmas, that I realized that my set didn't have any shepherds with it; just the three wise men! That was a bit disappointing. After all, it was the shepherds who welcomed the new baby; the wise men didn't get there until three years after!

Over the years, I rectified that shortage by purchasing town's people and shepherds and animals to come and question, "What Child is this?" And each Christmas season, I looked at it with new eyes as I unpacked the pieces and set it up in a major spot of each of my homes. Each Christmas Eve when the clock struck midnight clear, I placed the Baby Jesus between Mary and Joseph and stopped to offer a prayer to the season and whisper my wishes for the year to come.

And, that Nativity has been part of all the Christmas Eves that Laura and Sean and all my friends and family shared in my home over the years.

Now that Laura has Livy and Ava, I decided it is time to pass it to her so she and her girls can have it as part of their Christmas traditions. So, I packed it all up and when we were down to visit a week or so ago I gave it to her, telling the story of Nanny taking me to pick it out. She was delighted and said, "Livy will love this, Aunt Holly! Are you sure you want to give this to us now? Don't you want to keep it?"

And, the answer is yes; yes, I want to keep it. It's been part of Christmas for the past 50 years! But more than wanting to keep it, is the feeling of happiness I get when I think of Livy and Ava helping Laura unwrap the pieces and setting it up in their home. I've always known I was going to give it to Laura...and it seemed a good time, this year I am 56, to do it now.

But, as much as I might feel a twinge at having passed it along to my beloved girl and her girls, I won't feel sad. Because the trick of living life well is to learn to find the new in the old. And the need to begin new customs that turn into traditions. And, that's what Michael and I are doing as we experience each passing Christmas with each other.

So, this is my nativity now. Simple and serene. With only the central figures from the story to remind me of the beauty of the season. Michael and I picked it together and the crystal stars, one for each Christmas we've shared, glitter over their heads.

The representation is different, but the Child is the same. The story still has deep meaning. And, now as I build memories with My Lion, I know that another important part of my Christmas past will continue through Laura, Eric, Livy, and Ava.

After all, that's really the meaning of the season, isn't it?

Namaste' Till Next Time,
Holly aka Louisa Dituri's grand daughter, aka Great Aunt Holly

The Last of Christmas

I can't put it off any longer. Day-light savings time has been here for awhile now. I started the garden clean-up; started being the operative word.

Most of the Christmas decorations have been packed away; most being the operative word in that sentence. I've hung an early spring wreath on the front door. Even my slow tree in the front yard is beginning to bud.

Yep, winter has gone, the Solstice was a few days ago. Even as I contemplate this idea, I'm still amazed that for many of my blogging friends on the far side of the world, it means that summer is over and they are headed into fall. I wonder, if I could time share with them, it means I could live in my favorite season all year long! I'll have to give that more consideration...

The thunder storms have started early. The spring rains are doing their best to remind me of the season change. And yet...here I sit looking at this last vestige of the holiday season. Yes, because of the adorable wee lights and the colors, but mostly as a way to recall a significant kindness done during the season of lights.

You may have read my post about Dad making a ceramic Christmas tree for me many years ago. When I wrote The Season of Remembering I was toying with the idea that the things in your life take on a different meaning and importance as we get older.

Very shortly after I posted it, I got a Face Book message from the daughter of a friend of mine; I haven't spoken with her in a years. Alea wrote to say that she now lives in Florida and has a ceramics shop. She wanted to let me know that she had got a great many requests of late for the Christmas trees, invariably a patron saying, "My (fill in the blank,) had one of these when I was little and I thought I'd make one for our home because I remember the lights..."

She wanted to know if she could print and post my blog because she thought it really captured the appeal of these holiday tchotchkes. I whole-heartedly agreed. I suggested she print a bunch and leave them at her counter for people to pick up. I went on to say that I had always wanted one of the really little trees but, they weren't around when Dad made mine and that, yes, I really did love the one he made.

It was great hearing from Alea; a nice holiday moment of catching up. Hearing that a once tiny, precoutious child is finding her way happily and creatively through life is always a gift.

A few days later, in the mail arrived a wee tree. The accompanying note from Alea said she hoped it would add to my joy of the holidays and thanked me for letting her print my post. Many people had been in to paint a tree for their home.

And so, a tradition continues for another generation to enjoy. That's really what the holidays are about...creating a moment when life is predictable and gentle and joyous.

Shortly after the holidays, I had surgery and one thing lead to another and, well, the little tree never got put away. And, I never got a thank you note off to Alea, which is very unlike me. I hope she reads this to understand how grateful I am to her generosity and talents. And how the little tree will be a new moment of remembering.

Today it is pouring buckets and its so gray and gloomy that, even though I was going to put the wee tree away finally...I think I'll just sit here and look at those tiny sparks of color and smile a bit longer.

I hope you can find some color and love in your day today.

Namaste' Till Next Time,
Holly aka Aunt Holly

M.I.A. But Only For Awhile

I had foot surgery earlier in the week. It went well. I'm home. Non-weight bearing for three weeks. Not much pain. But enough to keep me tired.

Michael is the most patient of nurses; I try not to ask much of him and I feel like when I want to take a nap, it's a good chance for him to do what he needs/wants to do. Rory and Fiona are pretty good candy-stripers.

Neighbors have checked on me and even made dinner for us! Such a nice thing to do. I feel blessed.

So until I can hold my head up for longer periods, I may not be around very much. Just when I made it my mission to be much more on my game here in blog land. Oh well, the best laid plans sort of thing.

Just wanted to check in with you and let you know I'm thinking of you. I'll be back.... I just sounded like The Terminator...funny...

Namaste' Till Next Time,
Holly

Stop Touching Yourself and Just Sing!

Nothing like starting the new year off with a good rant.

So, the other night we're standing around waiting for the ball to drop and wondering who all of these performers are 'singing' and dancing on the stage. One person commented, "I am so getting old...I have no idea who these people are. More so, I don't really care who these people are."

I'm fairly certain I heard some poor misguided, socially stunted adult say something similar when I was young and thought, "You poor bastard..."

Well, count me a poor bastard in 2011 then. I'm perfectly all right with it if you do. I've earned the right to be one!

As I watched, I wasn't so concerned that I was out of touch musically, as much as I was becoming offended by all the touching that is de rigueur when one is supposed to be singing!

For goodness sake! Is this a porno we're watching, or is it supposed to be a performance of a hit single that we're watching?! For so many of singers these days, they're one in the same! News Flash! Handling your girl parts does not sell the song any better! Oh wait...maybe it does. Grrrrrrrr.....

I am so far from being a prude that it's not even funny. I'm all for sexual expression, etc...but if I wanted to see this much body stimulation, I'd go to a strip club and watch people grinding or swinging on a pole!! I don't want to watch it on New Year's Rockin' Eve, or any time I'm supposed to be watching someone sing. Yuk!

I wonder, does Andrea Bocelli get the itch to grab himself when he's singing?! How about Chris Botte....maybe not a good example as I don't think he can play a trumpet and rub himself at the same time. Michael Buble' grinding his mic stand? NO! You don't see that and still their music is worth my time as a listener!

How about an image of Povaratti touching his nipples? Could you ever get that out of your brain once it was seared in by witnessing it! NO! Your head would explode! And, watching these performers today is no less a bio-hazard!!!

Maybe it's ghetto and gangsta' rap that started this trend....but now all seem to think it's the only way to perform. The Queen of Burlesque, Blaze Starr didn't ever touch herself as much! And a crotch shot like the one Beyonce is providing here, makes Sharon Stone seem like a piker!

We wonder why young people are so inappropriate at times in public, or at home for that matter, without the sense of decorum that make them fit to live in civil society. But, all one needs to do is watch how we've confused the performing arts with a strip tease, and you've got your answer.

Young girls now think the only way to look on-trend is to look slutty. That's not news, we've been fighting that one for decades. What is news is how young the itch to slut starts...now around ten or so! Why can't we allow our children to know the glories of being one of God's/Goddess creations without looking like the lead act of a strip show?!

The male singers are no better....I'm surprised they don't need a cream to sooth their mangled private parts from all that grabbing and thrusting. PLEASE! Your junk is not that enticing to females. Trust me when I tell you that we don't think they're all that marvelous looking. Really? Do you have to do that?! There are children in the room. Their are seasoned adults, aka poor bastards, in the room who just don't care to witness how enamored you are of your package.

I think all of these younger performers must have a chiropractor on staff to put their spines and hips back into correct positioning after they've done a show. It's enough to cause whip-lash. Not in them, in me as I quickly and continually turn my head to avoid the image onslaught.

We can thank this guy for the trend toward self expression a la strip club style. Two decades ago when he first thought to scratch his itch on stage, it was a bit scandalous. That one move made Elvis Presley's gyrations in the 50's pale in comparison. Iconic sensual images such as Marilyn Monroe, standing over the street grate to get her skirt swooshed up seem sophomorically quaint....no longer titillating. Oh, Michael Jackson, of all the things you could have left behind as part of your legacy?

Yeah, thanks a lot, Mike. Would you all please stop touching yourselves and just sing?!!

Namaste' Till Next Time,
Holly aka Poor Bastard!

The Season of Remembering

He showed it to me a bit shyly and, uncharacteristically, sheepish hidden in his usual bravado. It sat on the dining room table. He said, "It's for you. I know you like your Aunt Katherine's so I made one for you. It's not the same as hers; I couldn't figure a way to put the snow on it like hers." That was all. He and his crutches walked away.

Back in the 70's, the first wave of interest in painting and fabricating green-ware had become vogue. Aunt Fran was interested for awhile, but really, it was Dad who needed her to drive him to the shop. Long after she quit participating, she drove The King and waited while he created. She was like that- she could be so angry and cutting but when it came to her Little Brother, she'd suck it up and accommodate him.

I was busy with college and my budding social life, so I can't say I really know how often he went to paint his odd treasures. I remember there were others, a bit tacky as far as I was concerned, but this is the only piece that has survived.

It is like the grandfather clock he built because he decided I'd want one. A herculean effort for a man who couldn't bend or move. Though I never asked for one, the clock stands regally in my entrance hall all these years later and each week when I wind it, I think of Daddy. Maybe these creations were Jimmy's way of guaranteeing he'd always continue in some way; I'm not sure what went on in his mind when he decided I 'needed' something.

The garish little tree sat there winking at me with its plastic 'lights' glowing merrily and, at 19, I remember puzzling, "Wonder why he thought I'd want one of these? I never thought anything about Kat's tree!" I was gracious enough to say, "King, thanks a lot! It's really cool. I don't care that it isn't like Katherine's. "

We sat it in the bay window every Christmas. Every year at the end of the holidays, it would be my job to pack it up safely and make sure it didn't get broken. He had paid extra for this one; it has a music box that used to play Silent Night. That's long since stopped working.

As the years have rolled along, I note that the little tree has taken on deep significance. It's one of the things I can't forgo during the decorating. Even now that my desire to decorate the house from stem to stern has ebbed, some years not wanting to really decorate at all, this wee tree still makes the cut.

I wait for the miracle of Dad letting me know he still remembers me, for each year out of the blue, even though the music box is defunct, a few notes will warble out and stop just as suddenly. It always makes me smile, tear up, and I whisper, "I love you too, King."

Often, when I look at the tree, my focus goes soft and the lights become fuzzy as the images of my father grow more acute and clear. It's one of the sacred parts of the Season, this ability to easily conjure the faces of those we have loved and who have moved on. To see them so clearly and richly in a small tacky treasure that has made its way with you over the years.

May you have many moments of remembering and recalling. May they leave you with a smile and the realization that, while it is sad to be without them, you are so richly happy to have had them in your life.

May you have a hushed few moments of grace in this frenzied holiday season. A few minutes when your focus grows soft and distant as you behold the loved festive bit and trinket. Watch the lights and visit with a treasure from your past.

Namaste' Till Next Time,
Holly aka Jimmy Dietor's Daughter

Crystal thin winter air,
Swirls in the ink of long nights.
The house sleeps, sounds slipping to slumber.
Soft snores, sheets ruffle, someone stirs, now still.

I wait for this time of solitude in the waning year.
Sitting in ashen anticipation.
Hoping to hear, in the frigid air that amplifies everything,
A sound that thrills and awes me.

Beginning to nod, the hour grows late.
No reason, it seems, to continue the vigil.
Not tonight does the air articulate.
I clip the lamp and sit a moment more.

Crystal thin the winter night deepens.
The dark is so complete, It wraps me in its arms,
My patience rewarded.
Off in the distance, the eerie symphony unfolds.

Hooo, hoo, hooo, hoo.
The owls have returned.
Singing their courting songs.
One to another, whispering, "I am here."

And, I am here.
Truly blessed.
To be alive one more year,
To hear them.

Namaste' Till Next Time,
Holly aka She Who Loves Owls
photo courtesy of T. Beth Kinsey from the Internet