New Years Eve, 2001

Three weeks after my father’s death, I was still making my way across Dallas to the Episcopal Church I’d attended the day he died. I couldn’t explain that — It was still tres strange. I was still fumbling my way through the service to a certain extent.

I just knew that it was helping me, so I kept going and I kept feeling the Grace I’d experienced that first strange Sunday.

Now, what I didn’t yet know but was figuring out — Episcopalians will celebrate no season before its time. So here I was in December, still waiting for the Christmas music that I knew my old Methodist Church would be singing. It was Advent, and Advent is its own season, thank you very much. Advent being a time for preparation, this new church was preparing … was waiting for Christmas to arrive. (Waiting for the good music, too, if you ask me, and my opinion of that hasn’t changed, damn it.)

Christmas Eve was a Sunday that year, and even Christmas Eve? Not much in the way of decorations, and no sign of “Angels We Have Heard On High,” or “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen” or “Hark the Herald Angels Sing.” Announcements were made about Christmas Eve services that night, but I knew I wouldn’t be going.

So imagine my surprise when I entered the church one week later — New Year’s Eve, as a matter of fact — to find the church filled with greenery, poinsettias, candles, all the Christmas one could ever desire. And to suddenly have the pipe organ — and trumpets!!! — blast forth with “O Come All Ye Faithful.”

The procession of choir and clergy began; the place was packed, and holy cow, this being the first Sunday after Christmas, it was the full-on Christmas treatment, even though it was (say what?) New Year’s Eve.

And you know what? It was worth the wait.

The music, the decorations, the celebration of life — I suddenly understood what we were “waiting” and “preparing” for. I was there alone, and knew that for the rest of my friends and family Christmas was but a memory, but for me it was here-and-now and I felt selfish delight in the shock of it.

And it didn’t end there.

The final processional was a rafter-trembling “Joy to the World.” I was seated near the back so was one of the first ones to leave — and just as I approached the beautiful old gothic-arched doors, the ushers swung them open with wide grins.

I don’t think there’s any way to explain the magnitude of this event.

It was SNOWING.

Dallas, Texas. Yes, we sometimes get ice or sleet or freezing rain or even snow.

But this was SNOW-SNOW. The ground was already covered; the flakes were huge and swirling and showed no sign of quitting.

Behind me, pipe organ and trumpets still playing Christmas hymns and candles burning and the air smelling of incense and evergreen –

And in front of me, Currier and Ives.

It was pure Hollywood.

My first white Christmas.

And my very-favorite-ever New Year’s Eve.

Merry New Year, to all, and to all a safe night….

See you in 2006!

His Royal Kinkiness

God, I hope this man is the next governor of the Great State of Texas.

kinky

* Texas Monthly, The National Magazine of Texas, “The Kinkster as Her Royal Highness, July 2004″

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I love audible.com. I love listening to books while driving (which I spend much time doing) or while doing housework (which I spend rather less time doing). And I started listening to Freddy and Fredericka with the best of intentions. I found it amusing, and a nice distraction. However, “amusing” and “nice distraction” do not justify 25.5 hours of my listening life.

I haven’t been listening as often as I used to, because I keep thinking, “Oh, yeah, it’s that Freddy-book, maybe I won’t listen right now.” I considered giving it up as a lost cause, but every time I start listening again, I think, “Well, it’s amusing enough, I’ll keep listening….”

And so here I sit with 3 1/2 hours left to listen to — after listening to 21, mind you — and I’m about to hit the wall.

I’m about to say, “I don’t give a flying fuck what happens here, I will run screaming into traffic if I have to hear any more of this book,” and quit. I honestly can’t figure out why I didn’t quit sooner. It’s not as if I’ve never quit reading a book I didn’t like. I do it all the time. Life’s too short.

So, has anybody here read it? Does something happen at the end that makes you go, “Wow! What a killer ending!”

Because an “amusing” ending is not worth the time I’ve spent on this already, much less another 3 1/2 hours.

Maybe I’m not up to listening to ANY book that is that long. Although I’ve never had trouble listening to any of the Harry Potters, and some of them have come close….

Winter Sunset

The other thing about Sam….

I drove home from Office Depot with paper for my new printer. Tunnel-visioned. Just thinking about how fast it was going to print.

Pulled up in front of the house to see Sam in the front yard with a camera.

I looked to the west — and saw what I’d been too busy “thinking” to notice.

Nice.

I’m not complaining.

The one thing I know about Sam is that if something is at all technical, he will research it for-freaking-ever to make the very smartest choice.

And I’m not complaining about that.

This means if I ask for some sort of little speaker-doolies for my iPod so I can listen without headphones, and he asks, “What kind do you want?” I can say, “I don’t know, that’s your department,” and end up with nice ones, not the cheap ones I would have bought myself. It means when we needed a new washer/dryer, I ended up with what were at the time the very best front loaders Maytag had to offer.

This is what I call delegating. I let him choose anything that I want to be top-of-the-line, because when he chooses, it will be.

So when I said, “I would really-really-really love to have a laser printer that prints only black ink because they are fast and crisp and superior and I never need color for anything,” I knew I could sit back and leave the rest to him.

And I’m not complaining.

But.

This printer. It’s HUGE. It weighs 45 freaking pounds. (I’m not sure I should have lifted it out of the box and carried it into my office, actually.)

And on my desk? It’s …. REALLY HUGE.

I mean, on paper, 18″ high and 17″ wide and 15″ deep may not seem all that big.

BUT IT IS.

Not that I’m complaining.

But, you see? It doesn’t fit where the other printer fit. And I’ve spent the day in my office (”OFFICE!” squealed in Maynard G. Krebs falsetto) throwing stuff out, moving stuff around, clearing a path to the desk, clearing a space ON the desk….

Which means I’ve now got stacks of stuff in the hall, in the living room, waiting to be “handled” in some efficient way which does not include getting moved back onto my office floor or desk…. (Oy!)

And a mountain of clean clothes on the sofa waiting to be folded and dealt with, which I haven’t been doing because I’ve spent the day moving crap around in and out of my office (”Office!“).

And now that Sam is finally in there installing the printer and preparing it to take orders from my laptop without benefit of cables, I’m staring at stacks of stuff and piles of clothes and kind of wanting to curl up in a ball.

But I’m not complaining.

Because he loves me and he wants me to have something that works really well and I did say I wanted a fast printer and this one is fast, and did I say he loves me and bought this for me because he wants me to have something that works really well?

And I’m not complaining.

But next time he asks, “What kind do you want?” I’m going to damn sure have an answer and it will not be something that requires me to spend one day tearing my office apart and (apparently) another day putting it back together just to squeeze the “new something” in.

And the first person who points out that I need to just clean up my damn office is going to die.

Today I Killed The Fairy.

First you have to understand the love-hate relationship I have with The Fairy.

There are pros and cons to it.

Pro: It’s a beautiful shrubby rose with glossy green leaves and when it blooms, it is covered with beautiful tiny blooms.

Con: They are pink.

Pro: But they’re beautiful.

Con: But it blooms once a year and then you’re left with leaves.

Pro: But they are pretty and glossy green.

By the way. That is not a picture of my The Fairy. Mine is bigger and when it blooms it’s solid pink. I do not lie. Solid pink with blooms. So honestly, what is my problem with it?

Con: IT HAS NO FRAGRANCE.

A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet? Not The Fairy.

And another con: It has a stupid name. The Fairy. How awkward is that? “I’d like to buy a The Fairy.” Bugger that.

So today as we raked out ten big black bags of leaves from our flowerbeds to put out by the curb for pickup, I decided to be ruthless and take the clippers to The Fairy because she was so overgrown and dense with thorns and stickers I couldn’t get to the leaves.

Mind you, I’ve always been glad for an excuse to avoid any raking possible in years past, but today I felt a surge of something … something mean.

And I decided to cut the damn The Fairy back if it killed it. Then I thought, hey, maybe it will! And I can put a nice smelly rose there! And I started hacking and cutting and raking and cutting and hacking until I was left with a very uneven bunch of sticks.

But deep down I’m afraid The Fairy will live to bloom and not smell another day.

In brighter news, we rescued a pair of hedgehogs from deep within The (evil) Fairy’s thorny grasp:

By the way, do ten big black bags filled with leaves and debris from the flowerbeds zero out the one big black bag I resolved to throw out of my house yesterday?

I didn’t think so.