Things We Share

The jacket that I was working on when I had my accident was sent to the laundry, because of a few drops of blood, and it came back today. So I had the chance to conquer my nervousness about the eyelet attachment, get back on that horse and finish the project. The only twitch came when I accidentally nudged the presser foot switch, making a small noise, causing me to jump some feet in the air. Without moving my hands, of course. The wound is surprisingly nondescript, healing well. The only indication that major trauma occured is the gouge in my nail...that'll take some time to grow out, and in the meantime I get a nice reminder to keep my hands clear of the needle everytime I look down.

Tomorrow I am flying home to Green Bay. Today I ate watermelon, which I love, and pondered on the things my family has passed down to me. Love of watermelon comes from my mom, who craved it when she was pregnant with me. Craved so much, that when she sent dad on a run two years later, the grocer asked "Liz pregnant again?" I also inherited my chin from her, a chin which has been neatly sculpted after a decades long assault by modern orthodontia into Greek statue like perfection. I'm incredibly vain about my chiseled jawline...also a little sad I don't look as much like my mother as I used to. I also found myself thinking about my mom the other day when I bought a bedskirt from the thrift store. We had a fight once about bedskirts: I was in the strictly anti-bedskirt camp, on the basis that they are dust-catchers and just get in the way of my favourite storage space. But then last week I found a lovely beige one, a flat-hanging bedskirt without all the dusty ruffles, only three dollars, so I brought it home, washed it, ironed it and put in on my bed. I can't quite get it to lie flat without pulling the mattress all the way off, so part of it is squashed underneath, but from the front, it looks lovely.

From my dad I get my ability to understand the complication that is modern American football, even being able to lecture people about the intricacies of punting vs. going for the endzone. I think of my dad when I listen to classical music, even if it's a piece he's not familiar with. I am pleased with myself that I genuinely enjoy classical music, as if I am joining a long list of people who have enjoyed this music century after century, and I have dad to thank for this, for dragging me out of bed to listen to the three tenors. Thanks to him too, for being able to tell them apart by just listening, and being able to smile stiffly when people gush about Andrea Boccelli being "just as good as Pavarotti!" We also share our love of kids, of being able to honestly enjoy the company of small people, of patience, of doing goofy things, but not realising they are goofy until the parents arrive and say slowly "what...are you doing?" Playing. It's fun. You should try it some time.

Now that I live here, away from my parents, they have much less influence over my life, although the lessons they passed on to me when I was younger are still very much engraved on my personality. Everytime I cuss I hear my dad's strict rejoinder. Everytime I eat cookies I see mom's raised eyebrow. I look forward to inflicting my own personality on a small person some day, hopefully passing along the best parts of what my family gave me.

All this meandering, however, hasn't helped me figure out how to say what I want to say. I am going home to visit my family, and, just as importantly, catch up with friends, some of whom I haven't seen in a very, very long time. And some of you, loyal readers, will no doubt be aware of something else that is going on at home. Grandma, rock of our family, is not doing well. I am very afraid to look at her and tell her how much I love her, knowing that it could be a lifetime before I get to say it again. There is so much joy and pain wrapped up in me now I don't know how to express it. It feels wrong to dissemble to you, my people out there in the dark, who have been with me for so many years, and yet I don't want you to think that I am going for drama (for once) I simply wanted you to see what this vacation will include. This is my life, my family, and I need to be home.

tree hunting

I didn't realise until I got to church this morning that today is the first Sunday in Advent...Christmas is closer than I thought. Not in an "aieee, only twenty-five more days of shopping left!" but closer so that now I don't feel guilty for decorating the entire apartment for Christmas. I love Christmas--the whole season, the singing, the cheerfulness, making things special, the food, the reason to get out the nice clothes and make a fuss over little traditions. Since I already have all my shopping done, I get to focus on the other parts of making Christmas special. Last year I tried to decorate our apartment, but it didn't turn out well. This year though, I was inspired by the natural decorations that festoon Colonial Williamsburg and I decided to do the same thing to our apartment. So yesterday Kismet and I went for a walk in the woods to collect materials.

First we went thrifting--well, I thrifted, Kizzy napped on my cloak in the backseat--and I found a couple of red Christmas baskets, a wreath with fake cranberries on it, some cut glass candle holders and second-hand Christmas lights. Grand total: eight dollars.

There is a forest behind our house, I've mentioned it before, not exactly the forest primeval, but a mature forest full of holly trees and towering pines. Entering it, you feel like you've stepped into Narnia. I've taken Kizzy on walks there before--there is a little path that winds up and down hills, over exposed roots, through giant trees that were victims of Hurricane Isabelle--it was easier to chop away a part of the tree than drag the entire thing out of the way. There are not many young trees, but on an earlier trip I had spotted it--our Christmas tree.

I brought with me a scissors, my trusty Leatherman, the saw from my toolbox (ironically, an old Christmas present) and several reuseable grocery bags. I quickly learned that the pine boughs I was looking for were impossible to reach--the heavy lush foliage was hundreds of feet over my head. But the trees would drop branches, still laden with green needles, like little pine brooms, and I would go wading off the path after them. Ankle-deep in oak leaves (last season's decoration) I retrieved my prize. Each holly tree I passed was scanned for red: if the tree had berries I'd take a few branches, if not, I'd pass by. And I continually stopped (much to Kizzy's annoyance) to pick up pinecones.

About forty minutes into the forest the path cants up sharply, and the ground almost peeks out of the woods. Here sapling pines fight tooth and nail for sunlight. The winner gets to be another hundred-foot tall tree. The losers end up fertilizer. This was where our Christmas tree was--not one of the of spindly long needled pines, but a narrow, spiky short-needled breed which was not about to come quietly. I wished for my leather gloves. In the end, it only took about a minute to cut through the one-inch trunk, and the whole tree fit neatly into my orange Sainsbury's bag. I was carrying dozens of little pine brooms, a half a bag of cones, holly branches and now the tree. Lightweight, but awkward, Kizzy not understanding that those of us with a higher center of gravity now needed to move more slowly.

As I walked out of the forest again, taking a microscopic sampling of its beauty, I was afraid I'd get busted, but no one said anything or even noticed, for all I know. When we got back to the house, Kizzy couldn't understand why the pine cones were suddenly forbidden just for being in the house. I used twisty-ties to attach pine boughs to our porch railing, and draped holly over our mantlepiece. Christmas lights shone through them, a place of honor carefully left for Amaree's creche. The pinecones went into the baskets I had bought earlier. Then I carefully drilled through some of Amaree's "burned" gingerbread and tied it to pine with a red ribbon, attaching the whole to each of our bedroom doors. Something sweet to come home to.

The entire adventure took about three hours, and our apartment looks beautiful. The tree hasn't been decorated yet--we're threading popcorn and cranberries, and I'd rather not do that by myself--but even just propped up in the corner being green and spiky it looks beautiful. I'm so delighted to be decorating for Christmas...and I can't wait for it to get here.

hug void

Lately I've noticed that I'm desperate for any kind of physical contact. Nothing that's not G-rated, mind you, but holding hands, leaning on other people, hugging, ruffling hair, patting on the back, things like that. I don't think I've touched another person since Christmas. At least, that's what it feels like. I'm starved for affection. I become one of those salespeople who plucks at your sleeve as they're trying to extoll the benefits of this or that bra, annoying the hell out of you. I just want a hug! Is that so much to ask?

Anyway, I'm off today to write for awhile. There's a few short plays I want to get down before they fly the coop.

Home

Mom has just pointed out how Dad's new snowblower isn't as heavy as the old one, mentioning how after blowing, one must shovel, and looking at me in a pointed fashion.

So I'll keep this short.

I am home, and it is good to be home. Many times before I've mused on the meaning of home--is it in Chicago, is it London, is it here in my parent's house, where I grew up but where I no longer live (posters of HP on the back of my bedroom door notwithstanding). But this is home. Right now, today, here helping my mom make meatballs or avoiding helping Dad shovel, this is home. I'm so happy to be in a place where I know that right now, this is exactly where I belong and where I should be.

I felt it this weekend too, being surrounded by friends old and new, reminiscing about the greatest city in the world and speculating on the future. Home-not-home in Chicago, but in the love and friendship of people all over the world. It's like sunshine after a long winter.

Like I said, I have to keep this short, but I'm hoping that everyone will feel this way this Christmas--this is the best present I could have receieved. I have already been paid for a review of Sweeney Todd, so I'll post the link here once I write it, but rest assured the movie was great. Merry Christmas everyone, and God bless us all in our contentment.

best. wedding. evar.

News at six. xx Nicki

The Big Event (no, it's not Harry Potter Eve Day)

The foolish Chicago Tribune said that while the buildup to the movie has been huge, there hasn't been much of an uproar over new book.

Oh, foolish, foolish Chicago Tribune. It is obvious whoever wrote this that they have not been slavishly checking Mugglenet every five minutes, or whispering conspiratorially with their fellow Hufflepuffs. I haven't read a thing all week, because I don't want to hear ANYTHING that might constitute a spoiler (like the item you mentioned so carelessly, CHICAGO TRIBUNE!!!). I can't think about it, I don't want it to be the end--I'm afraid I might burst into flames with anticipation. One of the people I work with is married to a librarian, and he casually mentioned today that his wife's library has received their copies, so she's actually held one in her hands and (I quote) "petted it a little." I don't think he was expecting me to hit the ceiling out of excitement. Nor did he think I was serious when I asked him if she could possibly scan the first page and email it to me. Just the first page. The first sentence. Just the picture on the first page. Just the dedication. That's when he started edging away slowly, without making eye contact.

That's actually not what I'm writing about today. I'm also leaving at 4:30 so I can catch a train and head up north because the major event of the weekend is my brother's wedding. I can't actually believe that they're getting married, not yet, but I'm sure it will start to sink in once we get up north. I'm so happy for Peter and Brenda, and I'm sure they're doing the right thing. After all, they bought the puppy. Oh, and they love one another. :) The ceremony is going to take place on the lakeshore of beautiful Lake Michigan, and I have a new dress for the occasion. I'll be back on Sunday, with pictures.

Have a good weekend.