It's Not Too Late!

I made it a personal challenge of mine this holiday season to donate my spare change every single time I came across a bell ringer for the Salvation Army. Quite frankly, it was nice to take away the "Should I or shouldn't I?" dilemma I normally felt when some days, I'd come across these folks three or four times a day. This year, it was a non-issue. Of course I would donate. Not only did my purse get a bit lighter (while my other shoulder was often weighted down with gifts), but I felt pretty darn okay, too.

Now it's time to move on to donate again to the Environmental Defense Fund. And I'm curious to hear about the charities you may have donated to this year. And please post links so others many check them out!

Serious Flashback Time

Recently, while visiting a friend, I found myself casually observing the interactions between her teenage daughter and the girl's male "friend" throughout the evening. At first, it appeared to truly be a friendly situation only. However, as the evening progressed from ping pong to lazing on the couch in front of the TV, it became clear that a teenage romance was budding before my very eyes.

It also amazed me that despite my inability to see the awesomeness that apparently is Lady Gaga (really? No, really??), very little has changed in the realm of teenage flirtation since my hormone laden days. Apparently, the rules in trying to score the attention of a cute boy have pretty much remained the same. Lots of smiling, a careful amount of laughing at the right time, a lot of questions fired off about his school activities (whether you really cared or not), and then when it came to that time on the couch, after you had assessed your proximity to him, when you had edged over just a little, perhaps just to cross your legs in his direction, after you noticed that he had responded to you by turning your way just the teeniest bit, after you finally took that deep breath, you would would make your move to...

put your head on his shoulder.

Yes, this is what I walked in on the other night. A little cuddle while watching Glee. I had walked into the living room to grab my purse and accidentally witnessed what I can only assume was a very calculated head-on-shoulder move. The boy, sitting there all tall and rigid, also had a ridiculous, goofy smile plastered on his face. As I hightailed it out of there, I stifled a giggle. I could only imagine the racing hearts, those exciting endorphins, those obsessive thoughts of FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHEN IS HE GONNA KISS ME?

Oh, to be sixteen again.

Funny, then, that I'm heading that way myself tonight. No, there's no time travel involved. But I'm going to be seeing my old high school boyfriend in just a few hours, the guy I dated when I was sixteen. We've actually hung out quite a bit throughout the years after the requisite "I HATE YOU!" stage that seemed to last not only senior year but a good chunk of college, too. (What can I say? I was an angry teenage girl.)

I can't say that either one of us is secretly pining after one another "after all these years." No, it's morphed into more of a brotherly/sisterly "Oh my God, you said what to her?" kind of relationship than anything else. But it's absolutely fascinating to me that just seeing this guy can resurrect funny old memories and sweet, innocent feelings that I had thought were long ago lost. How can that not make me smile?

It's also amazing to me how some of those initial feelings, questions, and behaviors of our teenage dating years still manage to creep back in twenty years later when we're all mature and beyond all of that awkwardness. Right. Body language is body language and I don't think that changes all that much.

But do I still think putting my head on someone's shoulder is a big step? Actually, yes. Especially after hours of quiet chatter on my back porch. I guess I'm a sucker for a Summer of 1992 kind of romance. And it kind of makes my heart melt to see it happen all over again in 2010. Maybe I'm not so darn old fashioned after all.

And She Grinchily Complained...

After all the talk of the impending snowstorm headed our way yesterday, I made a conscious decision to get snowed in at my sister's house. (Side note: This is Wisconsin. Wind does not constitute "snowstorm.") Anyway, I couldn't think of a better way to spend my Saturday night than to get my cozy pajamas on, read some books, and drink hot chocolate with my little peanut niece. It was also prime time for watching some classic Christmas specials. Frosty the Snowman was actually being aired last night so we started with that. However, Little Miss wasn't all that impressed with the jolliness of a gigantic snowman who never seems to know what day it is. Finally, she said, "Ginch?"

Luckily, my handy dandy interpreter (aka mother of said child) was present and said, "You want to watch The Grinch?"

I don't know who was more excited, my niece or me. "YES!" we both squealed simultaneously.

And here's where I get to speak passionately for a brief moment about yet another wonderful message conveyed by Dr. Suess. We don't need toys or decorations to feel the spirit of Christmas. We just need one another to feel the spirit in our hearts! Awwww!

But before we got to that squishy, melty point in the story, my sister and I had a lot of difficulty losing ourselves in the show, instead grinchily (did you know they actually use that word as an adjective in the story?) pointing out how the laws of physics would not allow for 90% of this story to take place.

I mean, it really gets out of hand when the sleigh, packed full of stolen Who toys is about to slide down the edge of a treacherous mountain peak. But first, it dangles there, balancing for a bit due to the...sturdy body of a two-pound canine? Really? This, of course, after the tiny wiener dog just pulled a 500 pound load of toys up the mountain to begin with.

My sister, who had been in and out of the living room throughout the whole show, heard me laugh and then said, "But you know what part really gets me? When the Grinch takes the antlers and fastens it on the dog's head with one tiny piece of thread. Thread? I mean, did you see the size of those antlers. Come on!"

Then in the next breath: "Of course, I apparently can get over the fact that there is a green man running around town with no pants but this...this thread/antler issue, I just can't get over."

We laughed as she plopped down in the recliner across from me. And then she said, "But don't you just wish you could be a kid again and just get lost in the story?"

I agreed and sighed. But then the Grinch's heart suddenly swelled, the Whos began to sing, and I watched my niece's big blue eyes widen as she got lost in it all.

And suddenly, so did I.

WAIT! I mean, can you?

I smiled as I was reading this because it was confirming some of my suspicions about the not so nice effects of one's addiction to his/her phone/laptop/disruptive device of the day. And just as I was feeling a bit haughty, I then realized I was skimming the article.

So much for that patience I thought I was started to acquire...

Just a Reminder

I try to remember to do this every day. Maybe you can, too?

The Smell of Success

So after the feast and some goofy play time with my fam over the Thanksgiving holiday, I got to enjoy some quiet alone time later in the weekend. Everyone was gone doing this or that and I found myself staring at the family piano, wondering when on earth I had last played. Months? Years? It was sort of tragic considering that when I was in high school, I came home every day and banged on that piano. And with all of my moving around the past few years, I had lost my two favorite piano books somewhere along the way. Or so I thought.

Even though I had rummaged through my mother’s piles of music a hundred times in search of my beloved books, I gave it one more shot and suddenly, there they were, staring at me from inside the piano bench! One was from high school, the same John Thompson book that my two older sisters had also learned from. Tattered pages, binding shot, cover completely absent, notes from our piano teacher scrawled in three different colors of ink for each of us...it was perfect.

I couldn’t believe how giddy I felt upon recovering this music. I mean, I actually squealed. And then I sat down and played. Beethoven. Bach. Mozart. And my Chopin! It wasn’t pretty. Oh God, it wasn’t. But to pound out Beethoven’s first movement of Sonata Pathetique (okay, maybe not quite all of that first page, I never did completely master that one), to feel my fingers run through Bach's sonatina, I felt overwhelmingly happy. And I was amazed how after a few goes at each song, I was almost back at my standard level. Like riding a bike....

There’s something to be said for feeling a sense of productivity. I’m quite certain this is why cooking and baking became a more serious hobby for me in recent years. As a social worker, I rarely saw the results of my hard work. I certainly hoped that my actions were leading to the long-term safety of a child or the formation of a new family unit but how was I really to know? But I certainly knew that if I threw flour, eggs, butter, and sugar together, something delicious would come of it. And there’s something pretty spectacular about mastering a goal like getting all the timing of Etude in E Minor right. I'm not quite there yet but it's coming. I can smell it. Sort of like that cake in the oven.

Ahhh, success.