Thanksgivings

You know, for someone who is a fairly traditional person... for someone who was raised with something of an Norman Rockwell mentality... I have had some pretty odd Thanksgivings.
Back in the day when my kids were less independent (a.k.a. before they were grownups) we had what I called even and odd years. On the even years, we were all together: my kids, my folks, my siblings - everyone. It was great. It's always great when we are all together. I am/we are so blessed. And then there were the odd years. My kids were with their dad, my siblings were with their in-laws, and I was... mostly left to fend for myself. Those holidays were certainly odd. I've made some interesting choices.
There was the year that I was invited to spend Thanksgiving in Louisville. I got to spend quite a bit of time with T. and Marty, and meet T.'s family, which was great. And Louisville is beautiful. (My joke with T. is: I'd love to see it some time!) I had a nice solo ramble through a neighborhood cemetery. And I saw Churchill Downs from the airplane window. Mostly, I was indoors with a lot of cigarette smoke. But it was great. Also: a little weird.

There was another year, also with T. At the time he had a lot of friends in the Folsom (gay) leather crowd. We went to a woman's house in Dublin. Her name, I was told, was "Mama", and she takes in all the orphaned gay men and their friends for the holiday meal. I did a big number on my own head before I even got there. It was fairly ordinary holiday gathering. And it was quite a trip.
The most incredible holiday meal I have ever experienced was with my kids in Seattle. There was to be a gathering at J.'s friend's house, pot luck. We arrived on time, sweet potatoes in hand. Counting us, there were 6 people in the house. The TV was on, tuned to something bizarre (maybe that was just me), and everyone in the house was turned towards the tube. There was no table. All attempts at conversation fell like a lead balloon. It was the longest two and a half hours I have ever spent. Ever.
This year was a bit odd, but pales in comparison to anything mentioned above. I was sick with a cold, so I spent the day all alone. I just couldn't risk infecting anyone - especially Dad - with my cooties. And ya know, it was fine. I slept in, snacked a little, talked to my son, my daughter and T. on the phone, made a little thanksgiving photo album on facebook, watched a lot of TV (mostly The Waltons), baked a pumpkin pie without a crust. And when the day was over, my mom dropped off a huge tray of leftovers from the family dinner.
So blessed, am I!

Mmmm...

Don't you just love summer tomatoes?

I like leaving them out on the counter in a pretty bowl... preferably, made by my sister!

Even though they are pricier than grocery store 'maters, I go a little crazy with the heirlooms at the farmer's market this time of year. They are 120% tastier, meatier and fresher than grocery store tomatoes, so I don't feel too bad about the expense. I like to get at least one of every color, and a nice mix of sizes - from bigger-than-my-head (almost) to the teensy tiny ones - and before I know it, I've got about seven pounds of tomatoes.

As much as I love them, it can be a challenge to finish them off before they go bad. You can't refrigerate them or they'll turn into mushy, flavorless things, and you know rotten tomatoes do no one any good!

So what to do? Well, I've found a few simple, lovely things to do with Summer's "love apples". Ridiculously simple, so here you go:

Broil 'em:

Cut in half or slice thickly - should be no more than 2" tall -as many tomatoes as you think you might eat. Place on an broil-proof pan, sprinkle with herbs (unless I have some nice fresh stuff, I use the generic "italian seasoning" because I'm just not very picky.) Sprinkle with parmesean cheese. Broil until cheese is melty and tomatoes have wilted.

Marinate 'em:

A few hours before meal time, cut tomatoes into bite-sized chunks and place in a non-reactive bowl. Add to this: one clove finely chopped fresh garlic, torn or minced fresh basil, oregano, ground pepper, red pepper flakes. Toss gently. Pour some good olive oil over all, and toss gently again. Cover. Leave this on the counter for at least 2 hours. The tomatoes will release their juices and make a lovely accompaniment to pasta or as a bruschetta topping - no cooking!

but above all, enjoy 'em!

&**%$##!!!!! (part 3)

"It is not what goes into the mouth that defiles a person, but it is what comes out of the mouth that defiles.
"What comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this is what defiles. For out of the heart come evil intentions, murder, adultery, fornication, theft, false witness, slander. These are what defile a person..."
Matthew 15: 11, 18-20

I've heard the above passages cited as an argument against profanity. But I have to wonder and ask: does a cuss word really defile? Is swearing the fruit of "evil intentions, murder, adultery" etc.? I'm thinking that perhaps Jesus was not referring to those "seven dirty words" that George Carlin was so fond of. (And no, I'm not going to link to those. You can find them easily enough if you are so inclined!)

I think Jesus meant that evil ideas and actions (kind of like the legal definition of free speech) - whether spoken, written or acted upon - are what defile us. It is the recurrent theme of the Gospels: what is in our heart matters to God. Our appearance, wealth and language do not.

I know a young woman - a friend of my kids - who is a devout Christian and an avid Giants fan. She was enamored of Brian Wilson (and this was before the beard), in part because he is not shy about proclaiming his Christian faith. (There is a lovely article about that here.) But one day she saw a game where he gave up a crucial hit, and let an unmistakeable F-bomb fly with full force.

kind of like that.

(photo from google images)

She said that it changed her opinion of him. I was surprised at this, and sarcastically wise-cracked, "yeah, because of course we know that professional ball players never swear..." It gave her pause, and I think she eventually changed her tune. (Besides, Brian's not only an amazing athlete and bone fide goofball, he is a genuinely Good Guy.)

Maybe sometimes profanity is the only way we can express our passion in the heat of the moment. Not all of us can be creative in these moments.

I'm coming to understand that the use or non-use of those few words have little to do with our personal faith walks. After all, what is more harmful: to withhold care for the poor, or an expletive? To wage violence, or to let fly with an angry cuss word? I really think that God cares much less about the words we use than what abides in our hearts.

&**%$##!!!!! (part 2)

I remember clearly when an incident at church made me think about my usage and tolerance of profanity. We were between pastors, and our young "pulpit supply" guest minister used the word "suck" repeatedly throughout his sermon. As in, "that really sucks". I was flabbergasted the first time, and annoyed at every repetition. Now, I admit that "suck" is one of my least favorite words as it is currently used in our language. But even with that factored out, it was inappropriate. The casual use of "suck" - "pissed off" is another example - in our vernacular has crept in to the point where it is fairly mainstream. Maybe the young pastor thought he was being edgy or cool, and it might be so in another setting. But he bombed in the pulpit. There is a time and place for everything, and language usage is no exception.

I was watching an episode of Martha Stewart the other day, and she had Ted Danson on the show. He accidentally let out a minor cuss word while they were cooking - on live tv - and immediately realized what he'd done. It's amusing... watch it here. It was their conversation that follows that I found interesting:

Ted: Do you ever swear when you're cooking?

Martha: [sarcastic] Oh, never. I never swear.

I really never thought of Martha as particularly profane, but as they discussed later (not in the above clip), everybody swears.

Well, nearly everybody.

Properly used, a cuss word can be very effective. Especially if one is not prone to using that part of the vocabulary, you're pretty much guaranteed to elicit a head turn when you do slip one in.

Even more impressive in my book, though, is the creative use of non-profane expletives. I know a woman who is a master of this. Her "aw, shucks" might be the most sincere expression of regret I've ever heard. (She also regularly uses "golly", and the more emphatic "golly gee".) "Crikey" is good. So are "fie!" and "nertz!". A former boss used "Jeezel Petes" - that was fun. Anybody remember Mork's "shazbot!"? Yeah, I enjoy those. I'm nearly as impressed when corporate advertising gets in the act:

*** to be concluded ***

&**%$##!!!!!

Cussing.

We all have different ways of using the language, don't we? Profanity is pervasive in our society, and the tolerance level for the words has risen to the point that it just doesn't matter to some people. A righteous and upstanding citizen can let a blue streak go - and yet, no harm is done. No lightening strikes.

Things certainly have changed. From HMS Pinafore's "damme" uttered by Captain Corcoran in 1879, to Clark Gable's "frankly, my dear..." in 1939, to current film and television, society's tolerance and understanding of swearing has changed dramatically. I might be a little behind the times. An example: the now-defunct "Six Feet Under". It was a fun, quirky show about a family of funeral directors. I liked it, but I have to admit that when I watched it I was pretty appalled by the language. I actually counted during one episode, and if I recall correctly there were 23 F-bombs in those 55 minutes. I'm not a prude by any stretch of the imagination, but I think that is excessive. I'm not a fan of the casual use of expletives. In many cases - as my ex-husband used to say - swearing only serves as proof of a limited vocabulary.

I remember learning all of the words and what they meant (more or less) when I was a young lass in middle school. And I used them, boy oh boy. In fact, I was able to achieve grammatically correct, multiple four-letter word sentences on a fairly regular basis. Never in front of my parents, of course.

she doesn't LOOK like a potty mouth, does she?

That is, until that one day when Dad heard me drop an F-bomb while I was playing outside with the neighborhood kids. You might wonder what his reaction was - but I can't tell you, because when he bellowed my name, I flew inside the house and disappeared into my bedroom as fast as I could! I don't think I came out for a week. I suppose Dad thought that my obvious shame and self-imposed grounding was punishment enough! By the time I reached high school (at the ripe old age of 14,) I realized that what I had was a bad habit. I swore reflexively, without thought or moderation. And so I decided to quit. To this day, I've learned that because I cannot seem to exercise moderation in this area, it's either complete abstinence or fairly "loose lips". I've chosen abstinence, and I don't swear freely any longer - well... hardly ever.

Like many instances of personal freedom, I don't really mind if you swear. I mean, sure - gratuitous, casual cussing won't necessarily endear you to me. And if I hang out with you on a regular basis, I might inadvertently pick some of that up from you. That would bug me; it would disturb my soul, and I'd have to re-moderate myself. (But that's my problem, not yours!)

My current stance: these are real words, not evil or even necessarily harmful. As long as they are not turned into weapons, what do I care?

****to be continued****

lemonade

So. I finally looked at the pictures that have been in my camera for two weeks, ever since the 2011 Q Fambly Campout. (It was a tender, lovely, cohesive and a little-bit strange weekend. But mostly wonderful.)

Not all of the photos turned out well. Like this one:

(click on any image to enlarge)

It's okay, but just kind of... boring. So I played with the editing feature on iPhoto, and ended up with a kind of painterly image that I actually like a lot:

See? like someone painted it with vibrant colors and a splashy style

There are also people shots that didn't turn out well. I'm going to blame the bright light and shadows... fair or not, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

too far away, out of focus, and the faces are unclear

Here are my son A. and my cousin's daughter F. They are, naturally, talking about playing baseball. Or probably whiffle ball. There are roughly 24 years between them, but they love each other and played like cousins - because that is who they are. Editing the photo in a similar fashion to the example above, I got a cartoony, drawn effect that I also like.

here, the above faults are not an issue, because now we what we see is their familiar, fond body language.
Not to mention: they are luminous!

17 things I've learned...

... about being a wedding florist...

1. The bride will have some theme or color scheme in mind before the process starts. Learn what this is. If possible, get a fabric swatch (or photo, or internet link) of the dresses and/or suits.
2. Set seasonal guidelines. Peonies don't bloom in the fall, and Dahlias do not bloom in spring.
3. Help the bride remember details. Will there be flowers at the venue? Where? Do the parents need flowers? Does the officiant? Is there a flower girl or ring bearer? How old are they? Will the bride or her attendants use a flower/flowers in her hair? What about the reception?
4. Discuss budget ahead of time, and stick to it. Even if this is a labor of love, nobody likes expensive surprises.
5. Make detailed lists. How many bouquets? boutonnieres? How many pieces to each?
6. Take the bride to the flower market a couple of weeks before the wedding. It helps if she brings a friend or her mom, to keep her grounded a little - the flower market can be a bit overwhelming!
7. Use this excursion to really learn about the bride. What flowers does she love? Or hate? Is there a must-have quirky detail that she likes? A color that she absolutely does not want? Pro or con on baby's breath?
   
8. Order any must-have, important flowers 2 weeks ahead of time. Use a reliable vendor, and strike a good deal.
9. Do the non-floral work ahead of time: buy ribbon, gather supplies, clean and disinfect buckets, set up a work station.
10. Make sure your clippers and scissors are sharp.
    
11. Get some help. Even if help is mostly there for moral support, that's going to be priceless to you. Plus: it's really hard to wrap a bouquet by yourself. Also, delivery is easier with some help!
12. Learn in advance the couple's wishes for delivery. Where will they be, and at what time? Pin them down on this detail.
13. Get some good rest during the week before the wedding. (You may be working very long hours on the wedding day and the day before!) Eat right, and drink lots of water.
14. Use a silverware caddy to transport the bouquets in small glasses of water.
15. Be early.
16. Bring supplies to the venue: extra ribbon, clippers, towels, flowers, floral wire and glue... be ready for anything to break or fall apart.
17. Relax! They asked you to do the flowers because they like your work. Plus: this is really fun.
    

I've only done two weddings; I am far (very, very far) from an expert, and I have a lot to learn! Still, some lessons are more hard-won than others. No point in squandering these, so it's good to make notes!

vacation!

Day One of eleven days in which I do not have to appear at my workplace. Hallelujia!

It's not that I hate my occupation. I don't. I actually love it a lot. I love connecting with the patients. I love my (gifts) abilities to put them at ease, educate, and empathize with them. I love the opportunity to observe a vast spectrum of our society. I love being told that I am good at what I do, and the positive feedback I receive, from my patients and my doctors.

*this is how I want to take care of my patients - and I do, when "they" let me.

An affirming moment yesterday:
It was a busy morning. I called Patient B in, and noticed Patient A, who had been elsewhere in the clinic. "Are you done with Dr. ___?" "Yes." "Okay, we'll be with you soon." It was a typical exchange, nothing remarkable. When I brought Patient A into the exam room, he was very cheerful - not unusual for him. He began our conversation, thanking me for replying to his phone message a few days ago. He was effusive with his praise. He never expects to reach someone on the phone when he calls, much less receive a call back when he leaves a message. He went on to say, "I would like to tell you that you were the subject of conversation in the waiting room. People were talking about how nice you are." Wow. How lovely!

*

*

(Tangent: !!! I am always fairly appalled at the low expectations for service in this particular, enormous, HMO under which I am currently employed. I am even more appalled at the low respect my fellow employees [and managers] have for the time, feelings and dignity of the patients. Based on my limited experience here, if I had to quantify the corporate attitude toward ethics, it would be that the sole motivation is avoidance of litigation. If it's not illegal, screw patient dignity.)

*if this woman was a patient where I work - and this image is certainly representative of
the patients I meet - she would likely: expect to be acknowledged only after offering her
HMO number (and not her name),never be asked if her assigned appointment is convenient for her,
never expect to have her medical tests explained to her, never expect to reach a warm human
being if she calls the doctor (not expect an answer to a message),
never expect the support staff to be pleasant or knowledgeable.
Anything outside of those expectations is considered extraordinary.

Anyway.

Vacation! More later (no, I really mean it this time!) Wedding flowers to show, and other stories to tell: perhaps some baking projects, gardening, a baseball game... I'm free! I'm free!

*none of the above images originated with me; they are compliments of Google images.

o what a rainy season

fourth day of Spring, 50º and very, very wet.

dashing between the rainshowers...

Spring is here!

confession

I did something terrible.

Driving to and from work in San Francisco, there are - inevitably - people begging in the street. Not on the street. In the street. At large intersections, men (it's almost always men) wander between the lanes of cars, holding signs, endangering themselves and others when the light changes and the traffic moves. It's not legal - there are laws against panhandling in traffic because it's so dangerous. But it is pathetic.

I still haven't figured out what to do about the hungry people who intersect with my life. I am so fortunate. We are so fortunate. There is nothing, nothing so special about us that entitles us to be free from hunger while others are not. It is good to be grateful for our blessings, to pray for those who do not seem to be equally blessed, and to work for the betterment of others. I need to work on that third part.

The other day I was driving home, and I had a snack in the car. Munching away, I approached the corner of Market and Gough, and there he was: the guy with the shopping cart. He is often on that same corner when I'm on my way home from work. When the light turns red, he walks up the row of cars with his sign, hoping for a handout. (He, unlike his brethren at Mission and Van Ness in the morning, stays on the sidewalk.) I knew he was there, but I did not look. In fact (and this, to me, is the shameful part) I put my hand up to my temple, as if I was shielding myself from the sun, hiding from him. It was not the sun that was blinding: it was his pain. I had food right next to me, but I gave him nothing. I pretended that he had not touched my heart. I pretended as if it didn't matter. I pretended that he didn't matter, and I drove away.

When I returned home, I took the leftovers of an inedible casserole flop I'd made a few days before, and I dumped it down the garbage disposal. More food wasted. More food that will feed no one who needs to be fed.

O, the disgrace.

Lord have mercy.

brilliant

Spent some time on my day off Thursday with my sister. The evening before, with a dear friend whose calling seems to be listening intently. Apparently, all is not lost, even in this dry land.When it rains in the dessert, miracles can happen.

unfocused

Unfocused am I, that's for dang sure. Whether it's organizing my day at home, figuring out relationships at work, keeping any semblance of a spiritual life, managing money, seeing to eating good foods and getting exercise - none of it is exactly honed in.

And yet - the faithful part of me adds - there is beauty in there. Underneath the fuzzy lack of clarity, sheer beauty.

tulip and stock "leftovers" from a Sunday arrangement

Must. Focus.

love, KQ

Lenten journeys

I like keeping a page-a-day calendar in the kitchen. It's fun to tear off that page, read the new day's message - it's kind of a ritual. I usually get Mary Engelbriet's calender, and it is always a comforting, wise and/or cute way to start the day. This year I thought I'd try something different. I bought one with a pretty photo and a scripture passage on each page. Well, the scripture is in tiny white lettering on a light green background - wait, let me get my glasses - ha! And the photos... well, they're pretty, all right. But into the second week of January, I caught on to something. (Hey, wait a minute...) Every photo was of a path. Or a road. Or a trail. Or a road. Every stinking picture was a metaphor for "journey". 300+ photos of the same thing? That's a little too much for me!

There are so many "journey" metaphors for Lent. I'm not going to list them here - not that I could possibly undertake such a task. Like all travelers, sometimes we need a little help along the way. I posted on Facebook last week a request for on-line or podcast Lenten reflections. (I was actually hoping for podcasts, as that would have worked well into my resolve to start walking for excercise again. Alas, I've yet to hear of or find one.)

I got two suggestions, and actually found a third. One of the suggestions - forgive me, Crickl - just seemed more complex than I could manage this time around. But this one is working for me. And this one intrigues me. Plus, there's always this (good year-round, actually).

a journey of opening...

love, KQ

oh, there you are.

Poor, little neglected blog.

I guess I just haven't felt much like writing these days. Work has been brutal - literally - and it takes a few hours and all of my energy to recover from each day's ordeal. Not fun.

Still, though. I don't mean to abandon this, so I've come up with an idea. For Lent*, I'll just post a pretty picture. Hopefully, one you've not seen before. Maybe a few words, but at least a photograph. Here's the first one:

beautiful, fragrant paperwhites in my garden

*yes, I realize that we are already a week into Lent. Shh.

love, KQ

we interrupt this blog...

... the design features of blogger are beginning to mystify me. this doesn't look the way I want, but I have to fix it later!

pat-a-pan

For the twelfth, and last day of Christmas, I thought I'd go literal! As the song implies, this means twelve drummers drumming. I will spare you any rendition of "The Little Drummer Boy" (while I like the song, many have been driven mad by it.) Instead, another of my favorites to sing. This is the very same arrangement that the Schleptet used to sing (minus the cheesy morning announcer), even taking it Christmas caroling.

I hope to post a Christmas wrap up later - no time just now!

something about flocks and shepherds

The cool thing (or, frankly, annoying if someone picks the "wrong one") about hymns and carols is that there can be more than one tune for a hymn. Likewise, there can be more than one hymn sung to a given tune! (Come to think of it, it can be confusing, too.)

One of my favorite Christmas carols to sing in a congregation is rarely on anyone's top ten list, so it's kind of under the popular carol radar: While Shepherds Watched Their Flocks by Night. It is one of the first carols I ever learned - I think my Sunday School class must've sung it in a pageant or something when I was quite small. (Though I am fairly certain I would not have been able to participate in a pageant at all when I was quite small. Memories are so tricky!) It tells the story of what happened to the Bethlehem shepherds on Christmas night. I have always found it thrilling to imagine myself in their place:

While shepherds watched their flocks by night, all seated on the ground,
The angel of the Lord came down,
And glory shone around, and glory shone around.

“Fear not!” said he, for mighty dread had seized their troubled mind.
“Glad tidings of great joy I bring
To you and all mankind, to you and all mankind.

“To you, in David’s town, this day is born of David’s line
A Savior, who is Christ the Lord,
And this shall be the sign, and this shall be the sign.

“The heavenly Babe you there shall find to human view displayed,
All meanly wrapped in swathing bands,
And in a manger laid, and in a manger laid.”

Thus spake the seraph and forthwith appeared a shining throng
Of angels praising God on high,
Who thus addressed their song, who thus addressed their song:

“All glory be to God on high, and to the Earth be peace;
Good will henceforth from Heaven to men
Begin and never cease, begin and never cease!”

Here is, I think, the original tune - one that I can't recall ever singing myself - gorgeously sung by some English lads:

Lovely, no? I do know at least three versions of this carol (there are more than that, though!) and have sung them at different times of my life. This one brings memories of Skyline Choir (the video doesn't start exactly at the beginning of the song):

There is a really silly/cute interpretation of this tune, starting at about 4:30 in this clip. (I can't find it on it's own, only in this ten-minute video!) I have fond memories of Aaron and I rolling on the floor with laughter at this little guy. If you enjoy VeggieTales, you'll love it!

Here's the tune I learned as a child, and it is still my favorite. It's been interesting searching videos for these blog posts, as I do not always immediately (or ever) find what I'm looking for. I think this one captures the spirit of my memories of this song the best!

Which is your favorite? Or is it one I've missed? Do share!

Breath of Heaven

(hearing from Joseph, we now hear from Mary's story)

I have traveled many moonless nights. Cold and weary with a babe inside. And I wonder what I've done. Holy father, you have come and chosen me now to carry your son.

I am waiting in a silent prayer. I am frightened by the load I bear. In a world as cold as stone, must I walk this path alone? Be with me now. Be with me now...

Breath of heaven: hold me together, be forever near me, Breath of heaven! Breath of heaven, lighten my darkness, pour over me your holiness. For you are holy, Breath of heaven.

Do you wonder as you watch my face, if a wiser one should have had my place? But I offer all I am for the mercy of your plan. Help me be strong... help me be... help me....

Breath of heaven: hold me together, be forever near me, Breath of heaven! Breath of heaven, lighten my darkness, pour over me your holiness. For you are holy, Breath of heaven.

This song has been a part of my Christmas for many, many years. After singing it this Advent with my little church choir, however, it will never be the same. I will now always hear Ms. Laura Grace singing in slightly anxious, dulcet maiden tones the (well-imagined) words of Mary, and the angelic choir in response. I will remember the tears and the love that were evident in response on that December Sunday morning. I will remember the look of fierce pride and love on Laura's father's face, and the calming reassurance on her mother's.

I will remember the realization that Mary's pleas - hold me together, be near me, lighten my darkness - are supplications that I have made in the past, perhaps we all have, and that my friend Sue, who sang right beside me that morning, now makes on a daily basis. And I remember that those who cry out to God - we are the lucky, the blessed ones. For we believe that there is One who hears our pleas. Breath of Heaven.

Joseph's Song

words and music by Michael Card

How could it be? This baby in my arms sleeping now so peacefully - the son of God, the Angel said - how could it be?

Lord, I know he's not my own. Not of my flesh, not of my bone. Still, Father, let this baby be the son of my love.

Father, show me where I fit into this plan of yours. How can a man be father to the son of God? Lord, for all my life, I've been a simple carpenter. How can I raise a king?

How can I raise a king?

He looks so small, his face and hands, so fair. And when he cries the sun just seems to disappear. But when he laughs it shines again. How could it be?

Father, show me where I fit into this plan of yours. How can a man be father to the son of God? Lord, for all my life, I've been a simple carpenter. How can I raise a king? How can I raise a king?

How could it be? This baby in my arms sleeping now so peacefully - the son of God, the Angel said - how could it be?

How could it be?

Auld Lang Syne

sure, it's a long clip. but classics are totally worth it, right?

Should old acquaintance be forgot,and never brought to mind ?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,and days of old lang syne

For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne
we'll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne.

We two have paddled in the stream, from morning sun 'til dine;
But seas between us broad have roar'd since auld lang syne (v.4)

And there’s a hand my trusty friend ! And give us a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll take a right good-will draught, for auld lang syne. (v.5)

So this is the song we sing, in the wee hours of this day. It is foreign, it is tossed off without a thought. We don't even know what it really means. Well... not so fast. According to Wikipedia (the inerrable source quoted above), Sally was right, it really is about old friends: "The song begins by posing a rhetorical question as to whether it is right that old times be forgotten, and is generally interpreted as a call to remember long-standing friendships.

I am as likely as anyone to get mushy around the holidays, especially about old friends. If I were to do a call-out here, the list would be long, not terribly interesting (after you'd read the names you already know) and likely - inadvertently - incomplete.

I simply know that I am inordinately blessed by good and even excellent friendships, and have been for most of my life. I cannot imagine the poverty of being without loved ones. Heck, I got sick the other day, and five people offered to bring me groceries. Well-stocked cupboards aside, that is some wildly generous stuff. What rare, rich and fortunate beings we are, to be so blessed as to live in a community of caring fellow humans! To be connected, one to the other, by love and by friendship. Words hardly do justice, and cannot truly express my joy in you, dear friend. As I grow older and, hopefully, wiser, I pray that I take my friends less for granted and give thanks for the extraordinary human bounty they represent!

Happy 8th day of Christmas to you all!