Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Bucknell-Mount Carmel Connection

I feel extremely fortunate to have some really great friends, who like me, were raised in Mount Carmel and able to attend Bucknell for college. While at Bucknell, it was always comforting to have a few friends who could understand how I was trying to navigate my way through the Bucknell world while holding onto my coal region roots. This could be a whole dissertation by itself, but the point here is that I'm glad I had people in my life who crossed worlds.

Huge shout out to my friend Laraine who falls into this category in my life. Laraine and I were involved in a lot of the same things in high school and in college. We even earned the same type of master's degree so we could pursue working in student affairs at the college level. You could say that our roots were influential in the paths we chose as we grew older and approached "the real world."

I invited Laraine to Lewisburg last night for dinner and a Bucknell basketball game as a way for us to catch up while she's visiting family over the holidays. She lives on the west coast so I don't often see her very much. In the car ride to Lewisburg we discovered that our professional lives had similar trajectories over the past three years. While I won't rehash the gory details of some of the drama-ridden and tragic moments of our very first careers, I will say that I think we were both comforted by the fact that the other "understood" in a way that perhaps others in our lives can't really relate to. I don't use the word empathize often because it really is hard to sometimes walk in another person's shoes, but I think in this case, empathy applies.

Spending time with a friend who crosses over two worlds allows for two very special circumstances. Obviously, we get to discuss our personal lives, provide updates, ponder future endeavors, etc. But just as important, we get to discuss the other people in our lives. Laraine always gives me some good updates on friends from home and college who she keeps in touch with, people that I still do care about but who aren't part of my daily network, and I get to do the same. The point here isn't to gossip, but to generally know about how others are doing.

And once we pass through all of that insight, we often fall back into serious reminiscing about some of the really great times we had. This is also helped when we run into Bucknell staff members that we used to work with, who remind us of some very special moments in our lives.

We rehashed many memories. Many enjoyable, laughter-driven memories. I'm still smiling, thinking about how often we shared such great moments. I'm still smiling, knowing how truly blessed we were to share such an amazing college experience. I'm still smiling, feeling empowered by my Bucknell years. It is such a phenomenal place. Seriously. I'm so glad to have the opportunity to go back there and feel these feelings and share them with people who mean a great deal to me. I wouldn't trade that for anything.

Tuesday, December 30, 2008

Bargain $hopping

One of my favorite things about Pennsylvania (I know, there are a lot of things to choose from) is the fact that there is no sales tax on clothing. I repeat, no sales tax on clothing. Some people find this hard to believe so I wanted to make my point clear.

I absolutely love this. Seriously. It's incredible, especially when things are on sale.

Today, Mom and I went to the outlets in Hershey, PA (home of Chocolate World... magical place). I'm not the biggest fan of these outlets, but they are Mom's hot spot and I had to give in a little since I gave her such a hard time about the bright fuschia puffy vest. I returned the vest today. Thank Jesus. That debacle is in the past.

The great thing about clothing sales in PA is that if something is on sale for say $9.99 and you give the cashier a $10 bill, the cashier will actually give you one penny as change. Phenomenal. Not like in other states where you have to whip out $11.00 to accomodate for some ridiculous tax and then deal with random amounts of change that just weigh down your tiny wallet. Just a penny. Just a penny.

It's the small things really.

I know, I know. You're probably thinking: "Carol, how are unemployed people able to spend a day outlet shopping?" Good question. I'm not really sure I even understand how I pulled it off, but I did. I got some great deals. I'm also proud to report that I stayed true to myself and bought mostly clothes in shades of earth tones. No flashy 80s-style colors for this gal. I feel pretty good about myself actually.

Monday, December 29, 2008

Family Ties

Dad: "Your mother and I are leaving now. Your grandmother will probably call at some point for a ride home from Aunt Flo's, in case you're home."
Carol: "OK."

Gram did in fact call for a ride. Thankfully, I anticipated this family request due to my dad's anticipation so I was ready in case the call came in.

When Gram did call, I eagerly told her I could pick up her and my aunt and bring them home. No problemo, really. Only, I couldn't find the keys to mom's car. I couldn't find the keys because my parents so kindly took my mom's car with them. Sadly, my car is too high for my gram and aunt to climb into - little Italian women have little legs. I needed a Plan B.

I drove out to Aunt Flo's, parked my car, got the keys to Aunt Flo's car, drove my gram and aunt home in Aunt Flo's car, drove back to Aunt Flo's, dropped off her car and keys, got back in my car, and drove myself home.

No, seriously. This is what I did. This is what people do apparently when their father anticipates a grandmother calling for a ride home and then taking the only car able to sucessfully complete this family transaction. That's some high quality family improv if you ask me.

Sunday, December 28, 2008

A tug at the gut...

Sometimes, I hear something or read something that really strikes a chord with how I am feeling at a particular moment. Friends tell me that I am sometimes really good with finding the words to capture what I'm thinking or how I'm feeling, but the truth is, I often feel that musicians and screenwriters are able to do that much better than I am. Maybe that's why I like quotes so much and like to share quotes with others.

Tonight, I went to see The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Towards the end of the film, Brad Pitt's character Benjamin spoke these words in a voice over:

“...What I think is, it’s never too late...or, in my case, too early, to be whoever you want to be...There’s no time limit, start anytime you want...change or stay the same...there aren’t any rules...We can make the best or worst of it...I hope you make the best...I hope you see things that startle you. Feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people who have a different point of view. I hope you challenge yourself. I hope you stumble, and pick yourself up. I hope you live the life you wanted to...and if you haven’t, I hope you start all over again.”

These words hit me right in the gut as I watched the film, and I couldn't help but feel moved by them. Obviously, I just took the time to find the actual quote online so I wouldn't have to resort to paraphrasing. It's amazing to me how much these words sum up how I've been feeling over the past eight weeks or so.

Trying to decide who it is I want to be in the next stage of my life. Thinking about what I like about myself that I want to hold on to, while at the same time figuring out what is it I want to let go of in order to grow. Deciphering how to enjoy each moment and not get aggravated or annoyed by meaningless moments. Looking for new opportunities to spend time with people I typically wouldn't or to do things I normally wouldn't want to partake in. Taking chances with people and situations I would have avoided in the past for fear of how things would turn out. Feeling like I made a mistake one moment but realizing I didn't the next.

It's all so poetic really. Trying to find the life I want, the life I need, to finally feel the contentment I so strongly desire.

Saturday, December 27, 2008

To Lie or Not To Lie?

I'm a big believer of honesty. Brutal honesty in fact. Why lie? I can only think of a few situations in which lying is acceptable behavior. Christmas is not a time for lies.

When you open a Christmas gift that you really don't like, how do you react? Do you pretend to like it? Do you lie about how nice it is or how much you will enjoy it? Or do you just lay it out there that you don't like it and you wouldn't be caught dead keeping it?

As you can imagine, I received a gift that I did not like. God bless my mom, she sure does try hard. She thought I would like a new puffy vest. As you may know, I have four of them and I am a big fan of this attire, so she was on the right track. However, she opted for the bright fuschia puffy vest. Um, hell no, I believe was my reaction. So obviously, I went for brutal honesty here and I hurt her feelings. No one wants their feelings hurt during the holidays but I just couldn't bring myself to lie about liking this vest. I honestly wouldn't be caught dead in it.

I've taken a lot of grief for this reaction and for my honesty. I've also taken a lot of grief for the fact that I am a big fan of earth tones in my clothing. I'm sorry if I don't like 80s-colored shirts and vests; I'd rather be in shades of gray, brown and black. Sue me. I don't tell other people how to dress and I know what I like, so why apologize for who I am?

Friday, December 26, 2008

Midnight isn't always midnight.

Coleman: "I'm gonna go to Midnight Mass."
Carol: "Is it at midnight?"
Colemam: "Well, yeah, by definition."
Carol: "Ours is at 9pm."

Christmas Eve for my family is pretty low key. We usually got to Midnight Mass, though in recent years, this has occurred at 9pm. I haven't been big on Mass in the past few years, which most of my friends and family know. I'm still wrestling with some fundamental issues with my faith and so I chose not to attend Mass on a regular basis.

I do like Christmas Mass though, especially at my parents' church because the priest usually cracks a joke to begin his homily and he actually gives a good talk on something that I can usually relate to. Sometimes, though, my mind wanders during the homily and I find myself thinking of strange things. Like this time, I was trying to figure out how many times my dad has sat through the same Catholic Mass. He's going to be 60 next year and he has generally never missed a Mass. So you can guesstimate that he's attended Mass about 60 times a year (each week plus holy days) for 60 years, that's roughly 3600 Masses. But then he'll tell you that as a child growing up he went to Mass every day, so that's even more. That's a pretty serious number. That's some pretty serious faith. I can't imagine doing anything that many times.

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

... and I'm Way Way Tired.

We landed in Mount Carmel around 1:30pm. Thankfully, we made it safely without any issues. Traffic was heavy for the entire ride, and I'll be happy if I don't have to do much interstate driving for a while. It gets pretty boring after 16 hours in the same position. I really don't know how truckers do that day in and day out.

My friend Brandon also gets to be recognized as Friend of the Month because he so graciously helped my dad and I unpack all of my crap. This was in some ways more daunting because it was roughly 19 degrees and windy, which made for absolutely freezing conditions for this endeavor. It didn't take very long, though, to drop most of my stuff at my grandmother's garage.

I've been convinced since I made this decision that I would be home living with the family and sleeping on a twin-sized bed. A nice kick to the ego, if you ask me, since I have one of the greatest beds ever made. My dad, however, seemed convinced that my queen-sized bed would fit into my brother's old room. After looking around, I was convinced too that the bed would fit in the room.... that is, if you can get it up the stairs.

As you can guess, my ego remains deflated, as the box spring and mattress were too big to make the turn to get up the stairs. My wonderful bed is back at my grandmother's, sitting in a cold
lonely garage. Very sad moment for me, I must tell you. I had my hopes up to sleep in a real bed, now I must succomb to sleeping in the fetal position on a twin. Depressing.

As appropriate for one's first night back in Mount Carmel, I joined my brother and some friends for a round of trivia at a local dive bar, located one block from my parents' house. We tied for second, which is really just annoying. I mean, let's be honest, I could have used the prize money to assist in my current unemployment. But more importantly, I don't think anyone else in the bar had near the intelligence of my group, so that fact that we lost was just another small blow to my ego.

I came home and slept on the couch. I wasn't ready for the twin-sized bed. That would have just been too much for one day.

Sunday, December 21, 2008

It's A Long Long Drive...

It's a long, long drive from Memphis to Mount Carmel.

Dad and I set out earlier today at 7:00am, and we drove until about 6:00pm. For our first stop, we halted 80 miles into the trip in Jackson, TN, for a Dunkin Donuts breakfast. That's a good way to start any day, in my opinion, but an even better way to start a day full of staring at asphalt.

Generally speaking, interstate driving is boring. However, there is sometimes the occassional Bible Belt bumper sticker to entertain me or the occassional confederate flag-bearer with gun rack to scare me. This drive proved a bit more challenging because my dad was following in the moving truck, which can only cruise around 70 miles per hour.

My friend Bridget hooked me up with some high quality mixed CDs. Luckily, Bridget was a teenager in the 80s so "mixed tapes" are somewhat her speciality. This kept me interested in the drive because I never knew what song was coming next.

About 420 miles into the trip, I was starting to feel a bit tired. So I thought eating some trail mix one peanut or m&m at a time would keep me energized or at least awake. It's nice of Planters to make bags of food with the easy tear off strips. It's not nice of Planters when you tear off the strip and the bag still doesn't open. I wrestled with this stupid bag of trail mix for 10 minutes, trying aimlessly to rip the bag apart at the fancy resealable opening while trying not to wreck the car. After this struggle, I was about to lose my mind so I found a pen and stabbed a giant hole in the bag right near the Mr. Peanut. Take that, trail mix! That made me feel better. Then I proceeded to eat 4 of the 5 servings in the next 30 minutes. That didn't make me feel better.


We stopped for gas when we finally crossed into Virginia, and then proceeded to Roanoke where we settled in for the night. Thankfully, we were able to get a good dinner at a Cracker Barrell and stay in a Holiday Inn Express, where they have free internet and breakfast. Always a plus. And in case you're really tired from your travels, they even tell you which pillow you might want to use. You know, in case you weren't functional enough to figure this out on your own.

Pack It Up

Saturday was packing day, and I don't mean packing things into boxes; rather, I mean packing the moving truck and my car. From previous posts, you should know by now that I have a lot of stuff and this was a dauting ordeal.

My dad is probably sick of moving my stuff up and down stairs at this point in my life, but luckily he was up for the challange. Thankfully, he had the help of my friend Sebastian who gets the award for Friend of the Month. Seriously, Sebastian's put up with a lot of my personal crap over the two years that we've been friends, so the fact that he masterfully skilled the packing operation with my dad is a huge deal to me. This is a photo of us in the van after he made me climb like a monkey onto the stuff behind us so we could tie down some things with a rope.


Sebastian takes a lot of pride in doing things well, and moving heavy furniture and throwing boxes in crazy places in a truck are two more things he obviously takes a lot of pride in. My dad says he should work part time as a mover. Women would probably tip him well because of his sexy accent.

The packing went smoothly and much quicker than we originally anticipated. I'd like to think the ease of this operation had something to do with my great box-packing skills, but I don't really think that's the case. I'm just glad I had the help I did. I mean, this is the truck with 95% of my stuff in it. That's a pretty serious operation.

Saturday, December 20, 2008

The amount of boxes grew three sizes that day

New adventures are never dull.

I've never made a move with furniture, probably because I didn't own any until I moved to Memphis. So this move home requires a moving truck, and Budget offered me a pretty good deal. Dad and I went to pick up the moving truck earlier today. To our amazement, the office for Budget was located inside a SuperLo grocery store, which is just sketchy. It would have been nice to know that rather than wandering aimlessly around a parking lot trying to find the building.

The shoe-box sized Budget office was staffed by two women. The first was a 30-something typical American (whatever that means). The second was a 60-something crazy person. For starters, she had a wacked out accent I couldn't place which frustates me. It was some combination of southern and something, and it was pretty odd. She was also wearing a turtleneck under a green Christmas sweater over a pair of leggings. She had 80s-style frizzy big hair. She had no make up on her forehead, which was the color of my skin in December, but from her eyes down, she had on plenty of make up, so much that the color of this skin was like mine in August. Basically, she had two different faces. Creepy!

After all the hullabaloo over liability, insurance, paperwork, vehicle damage, etc., crazy face woman told us that Homeland Security requires anyone driving a van to stop at the first weigh station in every state. I've never stopped at a weigh station. This will be interesting. I guess we can't horde any illegal items across the state border. Crap. Now what am I going to do with all of my...???

After a few hours of finishing up at work, I came home to finish packing with my dad. I really do have a shit-ton of stuff, as I alluded to a few days ago. I guess I am more materialistic than I realized. Pretty crazy. I am 99% packed. My dad, who's amazing, took apart my furniture and helped me finish packing my valuables. I did the last load of laundry I will do for a while. The amount of boxes tripled today and my legs are already burning thinking about the numerous trips to the truck I'll have to make with my various possessions. Tomorrow is moving day. Very exciting stuff.

Unemployment

It's official. I am unemployed!

And we're in a recession, and jobs are being cut, and holy smokes, I'm unemployed!

It is actually amazing, but I'll resist from more exclamation points. The truth is people have mixed reactions when I tell them I decided to resign from my job without having a new one lined up and I am looking forward to being unemployed.

Skeptics:
"In this economy?"
"What do you mean you don't have a new job?"
"Why would you quit your job if you didn't have a new one?"

Envious:
"You're going to do whatever you want for however long you want. I wish I could do that."
"I wish I didn't have to work."
"I hate my job, but I need the money."

Dreamers:
"Wow."
"Good for you."
"I hope you find what you're looking for."

I like currently being a dreamer. I honestly think I've put in more than enough time lately and I deserve to do this for myself. I'm taking a sabbatical. My friend Coleman doesn't believe I can appropriately call this life phase a sabbatical; "You haven't worked for seven years," he says. I beg to differ. The way I see it, I've been working my ass off since September 1999, when I started college and haven't stopped since. Sometimes, a break is necessary. Some people take a mental health day once a month. I'm taking an open-ended break from the working world.

I'm going to use this time to dream, explore, reflect, and regroup.

Unemployment might be scary to some people, and I recognize my fortune in having a family who is willing to support me so I can take the time to grow and "figure it all out." It's only scary if you let it be scary, and I don't plan to let that happen. I plan to take each day one day at a time and see what happens.

Embrace the question mark. It is your friend.

Thursday, December 18, 2008

This is what counts.

Tomorrow is my last day of work as an Athletic Academic Counselor, and I do feel that I gave the position a pretty good run. 3.5 years. 7 semesters. 250 nights of study hall. 200 students I directly worked with in some fashion. That's a pretty serious inventory, estimations of course, but pretty serious nonetheless.

The funny thing about this chapter of my life coming to a close is that the numbers don't really mean much. It doesn't mean much that I often worked 55-hour weeks. It doesn't mean much that I created multiple spreadsheets to be an organized freak. It doesn't mean much that I created 25 lesson plans for a course to teach. These "countables" aren't what matters or what I take away from this experience.

What I've come to appreciate is that there ARE students, a pretty special group, that really have meant a lot to my life, and I do think they would say the same about me. A good deal of them took time in the past few weeks to spend time with me and actually talk to me about my life and my future and my next step. It's usually the other way around, so it was nice to see this reciprocity. That means something. It means there was a give-and-take in the relationship for both sides, mutually beneficial in a variety of ways.

Work in education is often thankless. There's not a great deal of understanding or appreciation from the larger world of the energy educators invest in other people. Educators don't go to work on a daily basis so people can say to them "Hey, I appreciate you" or "Thanks so much for what you did." But in the small instances when you do hear those words or read those words, the feeling is absolutely enjoyable. It's hard not to feel good.

One of the teams I work with has really treated me as one of their own over the past few years, appreciating me for who I am and allowing me to be an integral role in their program. The fact is I didn't always feel that what I did was integral; rather, I always felt that I was just trying to do for them what I would have wanted someone to do for me. Basically, I just tried to care about who they were as individuals and who they were trying to be as a collective. I just tried to be understanding and supportive in any way I could, and I was blessed to have that same understanding and support from them. It means a lot to me to have received the following written words: our program "is better for the time you spent with us."

That's truly remarkable to me, to have someone think this highly of the energy I invested, the time I spent, and the effort I gave. This is what will live on with me when I think back on this experience and this chapter of my life. This is what matters. This is what counts.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Loud Clapper and Rubber Boy

Last Friday, two of my students invited me to watch the Bulls play the Grizzlies. Knowing this was probably my last chance to spend time with them and my last chance to see an NBA game, I decided to join in for the adventure. I am so glad I did.

For starters, we sat next to this crazy 60-year-old woman who could be considered a die-hard Grizzlies fan. I didn't even know there could be such a thing as the Grizzlies tend to suck, but she was pretty intense. About 5 minutes into the game, she said to us, "Are you going to talk the whole time or are you actually going to watch the game?" Excuse me, lady, I didn't know anyone actually cared what happened at a Grizzlies game. I mean, they used to be the worst team in the nation, how intense could it be?

This was the moment I noticed her bright maroon velour pants. Obviously, this was humorous. You can kinda see them in this photo, behind my hair.

We also noticed she was a loud clapper. Seriously. She clapped so loud, she could have been heard over the drilling I hear in my office every day. It was obnoxious. Loud, booming clapping. Again, I never knew there could be such a thing. One of the students noted, "I think she has mental problems." I think he was on to something there.

The second great part of this experience was the halftime entertainment, Rubber Boy. A man who is double jointed throughout his whole body is just plain creepy. Dude came out in a box and then widdled his body into strange concoctions. The best is shown in this photo, where his feet are over his head. I was lucky to get this photo before dude kissed his own ass. It's true. It was disgusting. Or maybe it was unbelievable. I dunno.

The whole experience was pretty wacko, but I am so glad to have shared in it. Honestly, you can't plan for these things to happen. Life is better when other people do weird shit and you get to be an observer. Reminds me of college, actually.

Monday, December 15, 2008

Packages, boxes, and bags

Today I began the arduous task of packing my life into boxes. It's finally my last week in Memphis so it's time to get everything sorted and packed. I began my packing focus today with the items I tend not to use on a regular basis or things that I wouldn't need throughout the week. As evident in this photo, I have a shit-ton of stuff.

In essence, every item put in these boxes is an item that I don't actually "need" in the truest sense of the word. Books, movies, photo frames, crock pots, food processors, fake flowers... not one of these items is a critical component to my health or well-being or daily existence. Yet, I find reasons to keep each item because of sentimental value or for help in the kitchen. These are items that I have convinced myself I "need" in order to make my life better, but in actuality, I could live a healthy and happy life without them.

The bigger task will come in a few days when my dad and I have to drag all of this stuff into a moving van and then drive it home to PA. Most of this stuff includes items I have accumulated in the past 4 years, but some of it dates back to college and grad school. It makes me wonder how much of this will be with me five years from now. Will I still need all of these things in the future to have the life I want?

Thursday, December 11, 2008

Law of Averages

In the last few weeks, there has been a few moments at work where I consciously think to myself, "This is just one of the many reasons I don't want to do my job anymore."

Today's moment came when a graduating senior, who has created his own degree in construction management through a variety of math, physics, and engineering technology courses, said to me:

"Carol, I don't understand how I got a B+ in my communication class. My test scores were 90, 85, and 75, and I got a B on my paper."

Hmmmmmmmmm... really?

You really think this averages out to be 90 or higher?!?! Honestly?!?

Even after I showed him the math and explained to him how averages work in two different ways, he still didn't get it. Still not convinced. The math does not lie, my friend.

God help us if this individual is actually going to construct buildings in the future. I mean, honestly. But he's graduating in two days and that is pretty amazing. Really. A-mazing.

Christmas Sweaters

My friend Tia and I also talked about Christmas sweaters today because we were at a holiday party and there was some Christmas attire being worn.

We decided that holiday ties are appropriate for men as long as they are not too flashy and over the top, i.e., they don't light up or play music. And they are also appropriate when worn with a long-sleeve button down. No tie is appropriate when worn with a short-sleeve button down on a man. It's just as bad a look as inappropriately short khaki shorts that men in the south seem to love.

We decided that sweaters dawned in Christmas elements are really just plain tacky. We vowed to never wear them. We also decided that Christmas sweaters worn over a Christmas turtleneck is even more tacky than either item by itself.

In essence, Christmas sweaters are generally inappropriate and we don't like them. We sure do like to make fun of them, though, and they will always serve this purpose.

Awkward Hugs

My friend Tia today said, "I love to watch awkward hugs."

This was in response to an awkward hug I received at a work function today. This person I know at work, who I believe to be one of the most uncaring, cold, and bitter individuals I have ever met, felt it necessary to give me a hug to say goodbye. This wasn't just any hug, mind you. See I went in for the casual one arm "gee, thanks" type of hug that usually lasts about 1.8 seconds. This person went in the for full two-arm sucking-the-life-out-of-you hug and it lasted an unbearable 8 full seconds. All the time I was thinking, "Oh God, help me. This is so fake. Oh God, make it end. Please now." It was brutally awkward. I still feel kind of weird about the whole thing. Really, I do.

And by the way, the word "awkward" is really awkward.

Sunday, December 07, 2008

Meet Me in St. Louis

I spent some time this weekend in St. Louis with my friend, Kate, and I had an absolute blast! Kate and I had a great time catching up on life's happenings while enjoying the city. I have been to St. Louis a few times, but only really experienced the Budweiser tour, Cardinals vs. Phillies games, the Arch, and the riverfront. This time, I saw an entirely new area of the city, thanks to Kate, and it was great fun.

We spent some time exploring Wash U (Kate's alma mater and current employer), wandering the shops in the Loop, eating Ted Drewes custard, touring Schlafly Bottleworks, and enjoying the night life in Blueberry Hill. In essence, I got to experience an entirely new St. Louis. I absolutely love this. I love playing tourist and seeing the sites that everyone knows about, but I also love touring a friend's city, and seeing his or her favorite places - Kate was a great tour guide and I really enjoyed everything we saw and experienced.

The trip also helps give me some reference on what I am looking for in a future home, after my upcoming stop with my family. Each new place I see or hear about via a friend gives me more to consider in terms of what I am looking for in a new city or town and what that might mean for my quality of life. This information is certainly valuable.

Each experience I have, though, usually has some unpredictable moment. For Kate and I, this came during our taste-testing after our tour at Schafly Bottleworks. One of the other tourists asked the guide to sample only the foam of the beer. Honestly, he said, "I'd like just the foam" and the guide kindly complied with his request. Twice. I may not be a beer conossieur, but I've been around enough alcohol in my day to know this is behavior that can be considered quite odd.

Makes for an interesting story in an excellent weekend. Thanks, Kate!

Tuesday, December 02, 2008

Christmas Tradition

I am not a person who gets all crazy over Christmas. Mostly, I feel overwhelmed by the madness, chaos, and overcommercialization that many people have allowed Christmas to become. My family has tried to keep things simple in recent years and I do appreciate that. I do tend to like some Christmas traditions, like baking/eating certain types of cookies that only come around once a year. Some traditions, like my family's use of "the pink chair" for gift opening, are slightly odd. There remains one tradition, though, that does hold a special meaning for me.



My mom has this calendar, which she purchased from Avon at some point in the 80s. We kindly refer to it as "the mouse calendar" because there is a little mouse that you move from day to day as you count down to Christmas. You can see the mouse on today's date. Yes, the mouse has a bowtie, it's fantastic.

Every year since I can remember, my brother and I battled to be the first one down the stairs in the morning to "change the mouse"; only when both Joe and I were in college did my mom and dad ever actually participate in this activity.

Some mornings, Joe and I would race each other down the stairs, push each other if necessary, so we could have the chance to move the mouse. For the past twenty-some years, including last year, we kept this tradition alive in our parents' house. It's just too much fun so we keep doing it.

At some point last year there was some debate between Joe, my mom, and I about the mouse calendar; I honestly don't remember, but I'm assuming there was some discussion about who would get the mouse calendar in the future - one of us should have it I guess was the thought.

My savvy mom, who is learning the ways of technology, to my utter shock and surprise, was able to successfully get on eBay and bid on two of these calendars. My brother and I each received our very own mouse calendar on the day after Thanksgiving. I think Joe was embarrassed to be giddy about this small, yet appropriately thoughtful gesture by our mother, but I was absolutely ecstatic. Sure, there's no one to battle in the morning to be the one to move the mouse like there was in previous years, but each morning for the 24 days before Christmas, I get to wake up, move the mouse myself, and think about my brother and my family and how blessed I am. You see, that's what the mouse calendar represents for me - the safety and security of the familiar and the sense of family that I absolutely adore.